Mental Winds

 

I have hiked this trail many times, enough that I recognize a few of the tree roots crossing the path ahead of me.  I am quite familiar with the sounds as I make my way up this slight incline.  There is the sharp call of the Blue Jay, the chatter of the squirrel and the distant coo of the Dove.

What’s failing me at the moment is whether I go left or right at this fork.  It is so darn frustrating, for I know if I pick wrong too many times I’ll get locked out.  As soon as that happens, I end up answering more things I don’t remember and then trying to prove I’m not a robot.

No, I don’t recall my first pet’s maiden name.  Wilson Junior High comes to mind, or Lincoln Nebraska, I don’t remember.  I should have tucked some artificial intelligence into my backpack.  Maybe that would explain why I am on this journey. 

Maybe these hikers in the orange vests will remember where I am.  Now they’re telling me they have been searching for me for a few days.  How can that be?  When did I come out here, and where did I park?  “Yes, thank you.  I’d like some water.”