Morning all. I started out this morning finding out that my neighbor is named Bambi. I hadn’t spoken to her before but we have the same house number on different streets. A package of ours was delivered to her place by myself. I rather like her. She is in her late sixties, has a chain-smoker voice and wears t-shirts with rude sayings printed across them. I’ve waved to her and exchanged packages with her but I never realized her name was Bambi. I really like knowing that. And so I thought I would share. And now on with the morning prompt. Timers at the ready, and off we go.
I have no idea why he is in the woods. I like the fact that he isn’t actually lost and has a destination. And I like that he loves clean socks. So no story yet but the start of a character I think I can use elsewhere. Not too shabby.
Thursday, July 13th: He rummaged in the bag and came up triumphantly with his last pair of clean socks.
He rummaged in the bag and came up triumphantly with his last pair of clean socks. “Yes,” he shouted holding them aloft. A couple of the birds nearby were startled into motion. He ignored them and sat down on the ground in front of his tent. He gathered the rest of his clothing for the day, none of it as clean as the last pair of socks and walked down the short trail to the creek.
The creek was only about ankle deep, but it was the most water he had seen in the last few days. He placed his clothing in a pile on the shore and then delicately placed the clean socks on top. He then stepped to the side and stripped down to the skin.
The water was cold and he felt his toes going a little numb but he ignored it in favor of feeling clean for the first time in a while. He scooped up handfuls of water and wet himself down, raising goosebumps on his flesh as he did so. It wasn’t cold enough to cause him damage, but it was cold enough for him to catch a chill if he stayed too long. He took his small bar of biodegradable soap and lathered as quickly as he was able, rinsing everything off. When he was as clean as he could make himself, he went back to shore. He carefully put away his soap and dried himself off.
The close he was putting on smelled of woodsmoke, but they did not have the ingrained sweat scent the other garments had. On his hike today he would keep those clothes bundled up tightly in a bag and when he made camp again he would air them out overnight. After a few nights they would smell more like smoke and these would smell of sweat and he could swap them out again.
He shook his head. He hoped he wouldn’t be out here long enough to need to swap them out another time. But that would depend on what happened when he arrived.
He tried not to worry about that and instead gloried in the feel of the fresh clean socks on his newly washed and dried feet. The other clothes he could ignore, but sweaty socks made him feel worn, and fresh socks somehow imparted an optimism greater than mere clean breathable cotton could explain.
“Psychological of course,” he muttered to himself.
He slipped his shoes on over his socks, gathered his smelly clothing and went back up the hill to break camp. It wasn’t much of a camp to break. He rolled up his sleeping bag and strapped it to the bottom of his pack. The one man tent was pretty much the size of his sleeping bag with an additional half circle top forming a small roof so he in his sleeping bag would not be wet with dew.
It folded up easily and slipped into it’s carrying case. It was strapped to the side of the bag. With his sleeping quarters packed away he compressed his clothes into as small a bag as he could get away with. He put the bag in as he took his breakfast out. He was eating ready to go meals and needed no campfire. While not the most pleasant it meant there were no coals to douse from the night before and he could eat his breakfast while walking. He put his pack on his back, looked around to make sure nothing was left behind and breakfast in hand, started for the trail.
Ten til Midnight 