Day 85: The death of sand

If sand is a primal element in the creation of my universe then who am I without it?

It happened very slowly, as increasing amounts of mud began to infiltrate the sandy banks. There was not a particular point at which I could say, no, this is no longer sand, but mud. But perhaps there was a spiritual marker.

As I crossed under Highway 34 I noticed one of these cables, that seem to provide for crossing the river by means of a little box hung from it. It seems superfluous with the bridge right there, but someone must find these things tremendous because I had seen many of them, always a hundred yards or so after a bridge. I always wated to get a closer look to see if I could ride one of these things, but always had some reason preventing me. This one was "too close to that house, no good landing."

I would never get another chance because I would never see one again.

Instead I camped on the island just there, my feet filling with mud as I tried to clean my muddy clothes in the river and find some branch to hang them from. I wasn't sad, I just wasn't ecstatic anymore. The river is just a place where good or bad things can happen.

Day 85 ended: 49*41.590N, 098*53.103W