Tuesday, April 11, 2017

100 Words a Day 1054

My ability to navigate was not appreciably improved by the rising of the sun. A chilly fog wound its way through the pines, block out the sun. The damp soil muted my footsteps. Only the call of some lonely mountain bird somewhere behind me broke the silence.


The mist penetrated my heavy traveling clothes. But the exertion and the thin air meant I was regularly wiping sweat from my brow. The impenetrable fog meant I had no idea if the small trail I had found led deeper into the mountains or towards the small village I had set out from.

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