Gone Fishing, Again

I worked all of yesterday trimming trees, weeding and thatching, taking over twenty-one-thousand steps on the job. A breeze blew down off the mountains, keeping the world cool, save for in areas of full sun, where the thin atmosphere allowed for the full belligerence of late June rays. There were elk tracks pressed into the ground, and on the front porch of the house where I was working, there was a pile of bear poop waiting for the pressure washer. Right now the breeze is still breezing as I lie in bed awaiting sleep.

Lately, I have felt little desire to write, to tell stories, most likely because I do not have much free time, and the time that I do have, I like to spend in the mountains, or warring with the kettlebells, or playing fetch with Dutch, or laughing with Miss FPJ. Last week, I worked nearly sixty hours. Though it detracts from my training schedule, I quite like to be busy; I also like that I walk so many miles each day. Few are the ways of getting a living on the hoof. Pl…