Wed May 2, 2018 @ 11:01

The rain and fog descended upon the mountains driving the tired and vulnerable from their lofty perch. Winds pulled at loose clothing as I surveyed the coming weather. The fog blanket spilling over the top of the ridge like a tablecloth. Below were mountains and valleys jostling for position to hide behind each other, the depth of the land considerable. The falling sun was nearly hidden by the turbulent darkness. Cold has reached this place. It was time to leave. The long trek to the sheltered woods not far down from the ridge line was trying. Icy wind bit through my robe and offered a gentle suggestion of a fast way down. I was met by the forest after some miles, a hundred feet down the mountain. The trees looked cruel among the fog. Twisted limbs reached in all directions in contempt of our expectations. Even the boulders held a menacing aspect in this wicked place. The Witch's Woods. Surely another hiker would come along to dispel the disquiet of this wretched place? This is the only camp for miles. Fog thickened, but no others came. Nestled beneath a disapproving rock and wood pile for shelter from the wind, I would be alone in this place.