Some accidents are so severe or so messy to clean up, that they have time to make an street sign. Most of our fears are like that.

As I strode out of Port Angeles, headed for the mountains, and leaving the sea, I my head was floating in all that I’d seen, done, an experienced. It seems odd looking back now, but it was only my third day, and I was still so naive. (Of course a week from now I will probably be saying the same thing) My friend Leslie pointed out an important insight, perhaps I had already learned what I need to. People are good, the universe will provide, and continuing on for pride or ego’s sake wasn’t in my best interest—if that was what was my propelling force.

This is similar to what my dad cautioned me months back, like Forest Gump, know when your done and you want to go (need to go) home. That may be one day after you start, or one day before your supposed “finish”.

I’m not at that point, and trust me, it isn’t my ego that is propelling me forward; more on that in later posts. If it were “me” based, I would have given up awhile ago, or perhaps never even started. Rather, it is in the simple things that I am reminded why I am here.

Like I said, I was leaving Port Angeles, and I was walking. My knee ached, but I knew I wasn’t doing damage to it…I don’t know…I could just feel that. Just as I stepped from the last street to the highway, and abandon house’s tree gave up a cornucopia of apples to my chariot.

In the preceding three days, I had learned a great deal about faith. Faith produces results after you step out in action. Of all the yards and houses that I passed leaving town, none had an apple tree or any other fruit to spare. I had no money, no supplies, and yet I was leaving the relative comfort of a city by the sea for the more rugged mountains. It was at the threshold of the abyss as my foot strode over the divide that my faith was “rewarded”. This lesson, is one I would learn over and over again in the following days.

I walked nearly all uphill that afternoon. As the sun set, my night’s abode was still an enigma. Logging roads, flat unexposed patches, and sheltering thickets were not to be found. It seems on this journey, I’m to face every childhood fear yet again. All the those things that you think you overcome decades before. Fear of the dark, fear of the unknown, fear of old abandoned buildings that look “scary”. I faced all three of those this night.

Just as twilight was fleeting, an abandoned driveway appeared. I ventured down it and found and old flailing and abandoned home. You know the kind, they are depicted in all the horror films. They tend to use them when conjuring flashback scenes where some grizzly murder happened; eerie places.

It was somewhat swampy, and the mosquitoes were out, so as quickly as I could I erected my tent, and lodged myself within its confines. After dark, I brushed my teeth, and took the few remaining berries, rose hips, and apples bundled in a bag and placed them far from my tent allowing the raccoons and bears fair game. And then…I slept.

Upon waking, I found no Freddie Kruggers, Jasons, or chainsaw bearing sadists lurking outside my tent, no bears or raccoons, and no Bigfoot either, merely the morning stars quickly receding in the morning mist.

And again…I was off.

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