When Two Worlds Converge

I wrote most of this while resting by a tree in 9 feet of snow - snowshoeing

I smell a little bit like tobacco - that cigarette I shouldn't have smoked last night. I put it out on the palm of my hand half finished and stowed it away in my pocket, but the scent remains - stale smoke and bottled beer - remnants of last night's party that I was at, but not present, quietly drifting into subtle contemplation. Who is hooping beside me? - a man with a drunken grin, grinding his hips and making obnoxious comments to his supposed wife. Who is hooping in front of me? - a young woman sloppily sobbing, because she is unable to hoop. I stand up and try to help her, explaining the simple trick to hoop dreams. I am quickly admonished by the drunken men on the truck bed, "Hey dude - who do you think you are? - Trying to show us up and take our women?" I tell them my name upon request and they apologize for the gender mix-up. I sit down, tired and anxious for sleep. I didn't want to be here, but the chance to trek through virgin snow, alone on my snowshoes the next day was far too temping to pass. In the end it was a good decision. I had to sleep in a vanagon with a woman peeing into a yogurt container and her eight year-old son who eventually spilled the contents of the yogurt container all over the van's floor, but the twisting trails of mountain solitude swept away all traces urine and in the end it all returned to the waters.

Don't happen around the world. Let the world happen around you.
C. McCan'tless