October 3, 2015 6:32 PM
When I wake up in the morning, I’m usually quite awake and alert and cognizant. This morning, I woke up, looked out the window, and noticed Mt. Hood was missing.
My first thought was I wasn’t camped where I thought I had camped. My next thought, as silly as it was (but minds are silly that way sometimes), was Mt. Hood really was missing and this was a fantastic and mind boggling synchronicity to the “fleeting” theme from yesterday’s post.
Then I put on my glasses and saw that there were clouds both above and below my camp, obscuring my view of the peak. Oh well. It would have made a cool story.
A half hour later, I walk down to the little forest service restroom and am surprised to find (I don’t know why these little synchronicities still surprise me) that someone had cleaned all the wonderful graffiti from the walls—graffiti that I had just snapped a photo of yesterday afternoon. Talk about fleeting.
I took the photo below (yesterday) because it reminded me of a short story attributed to Hemingway, a short story consisting of only six words, but in those six words, volumes were spoken: “For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.”
The graffiti, as silly as it is, had the same affect on me. Poor S, apparently Brandon didn’t feel the same way.
Ah, young love, that too is so fleeting.
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