Rollie

It was the day before I left Miami. I'd hung around after Art Basel to watch the down artistically deflate and met some other stragglers, muralists who's ride back home had left them high and dry. We took to painting the spots left over from Basel week. One such spot was a huge warehouse which a friend of mine was granted permission to cover top to bottom in paint. I jumped on board the project after half of the wall space was covered with graffiti pieces so I did backgrounds and characters. I became a valuable asset to the team, and stayed in a hotel to be close to the spot to paint it whenever I chose. The morning which was to be my final morning in Miami I thought to get an early start to painting. I took a city bus towards the spot, then walked a few blocks. When I came near the spot, I saw a dog running accross a busy intersetion with people chasing him. I heard a woman yell, "Get that dog!". I thought to myself, 'Dammit, I'm going to get this dog'. I chased it through a gas station parking lot, and tried to tackle it in a gravel and plant display at the entrance. The dog slipped away from my arms and ran out into traffic. I ran after the dog yelling for cars to stop and waving my arms frantically, as the last thing I wanted from this chase was a dead dog. 

The dog's name, I later learned was Rollie. He was a mutt from the pound, a fast one. He was thin and athletic. I thought at first that he was an italian greyhound, but he was likely closer to a labrador crossed with a rat terrier. He was pitch black and gaunt. Today was Rollie's big day- the day which he would meet his new family, who had driven three hours up from Key West to pick him up and give him a second chance at a good life. 

I chased Rollie down the street and down a side road. A beautiful woman came walking from behind a building, breathing heavily from running herself. "Did you catch him?" Her name was Tobi. She was blonde and tall. She had beautiful posture. She wore a white dress. I replied that I saw him (the dog) go down the street and cut back to the main road. We agreed to split up and try to corner him, which may have worked if the two of us were olympians. We surrounded Rollie a few times (a feat in itself) but he eludued our efforts. He took a dash out of our sights and into a neighborhood. We began asking residents if they had seen a small black dog. No one had seen him. We flagged down a car which came from the direction which we suspected Rollie had run and asked them if they had seen a little black dog. They replied no but agreed to help us look for a little while. Tobi and I exchanged phone numbers, and I got in the car with the two gentlemen to be the eyes of the impromptu search party. Tobi ran to her car and began driving around herself. My new friends and I circled the neighboorhood, then tried a couple alleyways where we suspected a loose dog might be drawn to. In one alleyway, we came to a pile of cement blocks, about a foot and a half tall. The driver inquired aloud if he could make it. The answer was an obvious no- we were driving a low-riding crown vic, but I thought to keep my opinion to myself. He didn't really want an answer it seemed, as a moment after asking the question, without response from me or the other gentleman passenger, he pushed on the accelerator. The car lurched forward and came just shy of airborne as the front wheels contacted the cement blocks at the front of the pile. It was like watching a trainwreck. The car came to a hault and we heard a scream from the engine revving as the front wheels lost contact with the ground. The air grew heavy. The car sat helpless, like an upside-down tortoise. "I think we're stuck" the driver said. I silently questioned his level of sobriety. The passenger and I got out and took a look at our predicament. The car was fixed on the pile of rocks by the undercarriage, about one third the way into the length of the vehicle. The driver directed the passenger and I to 'get in front and push'. With the two front tires hanging in the air, I thought that our efforts would be in vein, but after some rocking bcakwards and forwards, with periodic clearing of chunks of concrete from under the car, we made progress. As I stood in front of the car and pushed, the final rock on which the car teetered came into contact with the driver's-side front wheel and shot out from the underbelly, skipping down the alleyway like the last boulder of an avalanche. The car crashed to the ground with clamor. We were free. Our passenger friend and I got back into the car and resumed searching for Rollie, but after a few minutes, declared it more trouble than they had time for. The gentlemen dropped me off at the corner from which they had graciously picked me up. I called Tobi. She swung by in her car, picked me up, and together we resumed the search. She told me about Rollie's story. Just a few days prior to this adventure, he was on the 'kill list' of the Dade County Humane Society, (known to be the clinic with the nation's highest euthenization rate). Tobi, a member of a anti-kill animal rehabilitation group became aware of Rollie's fate, she stepped in to save his life and foster him until he could find a family to live out the rest of his doggy life with. Rollie recieved his vaccinations, was neutered, and recieved surgery for a problematic tumor, before finding his adoptive family, from Key West. After a few days of foster care, Tobi put Rollie in his crate to transport him to his new owners, but upon arriving at the agreed upon spot and opening her car door, Rollie caught a glimpse at freedom, (or escape or a hotdog or something) and jumped out of the car, and took off running. Tobi felt horrible about losing Rollie, but we came to the agreement that it was not her fault, it was just what happened. We drove aorund the block several times, looking for either a speedy little dog or roadkill that resembled Rollie, but found neither. We agreed that it would likely be best to make flyers in the afternoon, post them around the neighboorhood, and hope someone called him in. Tobi drove me back to where our adventure began, nearby a clothing boutique which she owned and managed- The Fox House. I enjoyed her store, though it catered almost exclusively to women, I appreciated her curatorial senssibilities. We talked about the shop and I told some stories from my time so far in Miami. After discussing solutions to the Rollie dilemma, I said goodbye to Tobi and left for the afternoon. I walked back towards the wall to begin painting, but on my way ran into my friend and painting companion, Optimo, who needed help with a wetern Union transaction. He did not have an ID so we organized routing the money to my name- this was a four hour operation complete with a walk across town, calls, texts, stoop sitting, waiting, etc. Optimo's orginizational qualities are not his strong point. Optimo had to catch a bus so I ended up fronting him the cash while we waited for the Western Union order to process, which worked out. Afterwards, I returned to the wall, (so much for an early start). The sun was beginning to set. Upon arriving at the wall I saw a little black dog crossing the street in front of me. He had a unique gate in that his back legs stayed close toghether in his trot and ticked from side to side. I recognized that gate; it was Rollie! It was a miracle! I figured he would be tired after the chase from earlier in the day, and I assumed he'd done quite a lot of running since our initial attempt at capturing him, now five hours prior. I started after him in a relaxed jog, at first matching his pace, then quickening to close some distance between us. He noticed me in pursuit and sped up. It was on again. This time I thought to use some food that I'd been carrying in my backpack to try to lure him in, a beautiful Italian sausage at that. I took off my backpack, unzipped, and reached in, all while keeping pace with the dog. I took out the treat and held it out, now kneeling to show that I came in peace with an offering. Rollie did not break his trot, he did not care. I put the treat away and took to running again. I sprinted a few times to see if I could catch him on the assumption that he would be tired, but he alluded me with ease. By this time Rollie and I had run together for about 10 blocks. I was feeling very tired, and I thought I would ask the first person I saw on a bicycle to trade me for... I don't know what... whatever they would take for it. Just then a gentleman on a scooter pulled up to a four way intersection that Rollie and I were running through. I appealed to him. "Excuse me, please, I'm chasing this dog and I'm super tired. Would you help me chase him down on your scooter. I'll pay you, please." The gentleman took to the mission as quickly as I had and responded with a "Jump on!" I hopped onto the back of the scooter and off we went in pursuit of the marathon dog. We caught up to him quick, and I felt confident that I could catch him now. I jumped off the scooter when we slowed down a bit for an intersection, and made a mad dash for the dog, but again, no luck. I thought my new scooter friend would let me back on but he became so inspired to catch the elusive dog he took off after it. Now I was chasing a dog and a scooter, and they were going at full clip. The gentleman on the scooter took it upon himself to honk his horn at the dog repeatedly while in pursuit, attracting the attention of all in the neighborhood. We had become some type of loud joke; I being the punchline as I ran a few blocks behind the setup. Some residents asked me to explain the joke as I ran by, "Is that your dog?". 

"Well, kind-of." I'd say in between heavy breathing, "it's a long story." as I trailed away. Others just laughed at the spectacle. I laughed with them, it was all I could do. 

My scooter friend kept his position just behind Rollie, blaring his horn. I felt bad for Rollie, I imagine he felt like an antelope being chased by a lioness. After ten more blocks, scooter man, Rollie, and moments later, I came to a dead end culdesac. There was a house on the left, and a gated apartment complex on the right. Rollie went right, Scooter-man and I followed. A group of children heard the commotion and came out to watch what was happening. I sprinted towards Rollie, it was now or nothing. I took off my backpack and tried to throw it at the dog to trip him. Rollie dodged it. Moments later, Rollie ran into a dead end in the chain link fence which surrounded the apartments. I caught up to him and swiped my leg under him to take out his spindly legs. He fell to the ground and I jumped on top of him, grabbing his torso and neck. he turned his head back and bit into my hand. His teeth punctured my skin on my left thumb and he gnawed with all of the strength that he had left. I grabbed his muzzle and subdued him. He was wet under his belly, and he smelled like game. I could feel him yield control to me. It was done. I turned to Scooter-man and the small crowd of children spectators which had gathered for the spectacle, holding Rollie up as the prize of the hunt. As I caught my breath, I relayed the story to the curious on-lookers about the Runaway Rollie. I told them everything that Tobi had told me, that Rollie was rescued from death at the hands of the humane society, and had a team of people working to place him in a home. Rollie bagan to look like a celebrity, and after such a big day, he kind-of was. The evening's chase had begun about twenty five blocks back, and I asked Scooter-man if he would be willing togive me a ride back to where we started. He obliged and introduced himself as Henry. I thanked Henry and wished him a good night, handing him twenty bucks for his troubles. I called Tobi with the news, "I have your dog." I could feel her joy through the phone. She agreed to meet me in front of her boutique. I asked her store-front neighbor, a neighborhood barber shop if they had a vessel for some water for the fatigued Rollie, holding him up in a cradled position to show his state. My left arm, visibly bleeding, held him under his torso while my right arm crossed over his muzzle and eyes, as it seemed to calm him. His legs practically dangled as I carried him. The gentlemen in the barber shop were happy to respond. They brought a bowl of water for Rollie while we waited outside for Tobi to arrive. Rollie was too tired and likely disoriented to drink. When Tobi arrived, Rollie was gracious and excited to see her. We put Rollie back into the her car. Tobi opened her shop and helped me clean the wounds. 

Later, I learned that a cash reward was posted for Rollie's safe capture and return. Days later, Rollie underwent another surgery to extract a tumor whic compromised his health. He was placed successfully into his new home where he is recovering well. I recieved the cash reward, one hundred dollars, which was a blessing. 

I set out to leave Miami the following morning, but not after making a trip over the the Fox House to see Tobi and hear how Rollie was doing. Tobi showed gratitude to me for rescuing Rollie. She picked out a t-shirt that read 'My Life Story Will Be A Good One'. It was beautiful. I put it on and rode off to the greyhound station. 

Thank you Miami, thank you Tobi, thank you Rollie. What a beautiful memory to have and share!

 

Paint paint paint.

This mural project is a great gig; Wake, paint, eat, paint, hang, paint, sleep, paint. Repeat. 

Murals

The murals are going well I have a circus scene in the works at the warehouse on 36th street rocking above three graffiti writers whom I really respect. I hope to do the peices justice. While painting the warehouse, I talked with the local homeless gentleman. His name was William. He has set his mind to teaching me his craft; the art of palm (frond) weaving. I have sat down with him once and have learned a lot already. 

This afternoon Johnny came by the warehouse wall and offered another wall which he'd already begun in Wynwood. I agreed to join him, some change in scenery couldn't hurt. 

Johnny had already started the wall the day prior. It looked like an acid trip. We talked about it a bit then went to work, interpreting forms and shapes as they came. We worked well into the night. The Second Saturday Art Walk event was happening, so there was a constant stream of spectators and friends. I met a dear old friend from Tallahassee tonight which was such a blessing. 

My friend and hotel-mate, Optimum, has secured a few fine art portrait gigs and such has decided to stay in town for another week. I agreed with his logic in staying. I believe I could stay here also. I'll give it a try. 

Murals

The murals are going well I have a circus scene in the works at the warehouse on 36th street rocking above three graffiti writers whom I really respect. I hope to do the peices justice. While painting the warehouse, I talked with the local homeless gentleman. His name was William. He has set his mind to teaching me his craft; the art of palm (frond) weaving. I have sat down with him once and have learned a lot already. 

This afternoon Johnny came by the warehouse wall and offered another wall which he'd already begun in Wynwood. I agreed to join him, some change in scenery couldn't hurt. 

Johnny had already started the wall the day prior. It looked like an acid trip. We talked about it a bit then went to work, interpreting forms and shapes as they came. We worked well into the night. The Second Saturday Art Walk event was happening, so there was a constant stream of spectators and friends. I met a dear old friend from Tallahassee tonight which was such a blessing. 

My friend and hotel-mate, Optimum, has secured a few fine art portrait gigs and such has decided to stay in town for another week. I agreed with his logic in staying. I believe I could stay here also. I'll give it a try. 

Post-Basel

I spent the final days of Art Basel hanging out in Wynwood. As the story usually goes for me, what seemed like an opportunity to do nothing quickly filled with things to do. I found myself bicycling quickly around to meet with friends (new and old) for lunch or coffee, or to help somehow with their projects. I met many incredible people, and artists. 

As the festivities began to wind down, friends began to go back to their homes. The party came to a close. I found myself alone again, and I was greatful. I rode around Wynwood, with all of my posessions in a pack on my back, and in a box I carried under my arm. I spiraled out from the main drag into the surrounding neighborhoods. I thought to casually find my way to a bus station where I would buy a departing ticket. After some time, I found myself in the design district, where I recognized my friend Kalinska installing a mural. I approached her and struck up a conversation. She got the gig to paint this one final wall (for commission) before she left town. I wished her the best of luck, then carried on with my bike ride. I circled the building and was excited to see the other side being painted with graffiti murals. I recognized my friend, See, and hollered out to him. He explained that he and some friends had just essentially legally commomdeered the building for a mural project, and that there was likely empty space if I wanted to collaborate on it. I agreed with excitement. Johnny, the boss of the project, came down the ladder from the rooftop that he was painting. He looked through my sketchbook and some photos of my work to see if I was up to snuff. I passed the litmus test. He showed me a section of wall where I could start. The wall in question was beautifully painted with four letter pieces from old school New York writers. I shook Johnny's hand before heading off to a nearby hotel. I knew that this job would require more than a day. I checked in to the hotel, bought paint, returned to the wall, and began that evening. 

I started with a letter piece in the top left corner to block in a big empty space. The space was narrow so I thought either to do an elongated character or an elongated letter piece. I chose the latter because the balance of the wall I felt depended on it. After the piece, I sketched a hand on the opposite side of the wall. The sketch was lovely, so I left it to be finished later. I began filling in big sections of the background of the wall with color, creating compositions which assisted the flow of the eye across the wall in an infinity symbol fashion. The wall was coming out well. 

I spent that night at the hotel. In the morning I felt an itch. Perhaps I was allergic to the spraypaint as it came into contact with my skin..

I spent that whole day painting. Another night in the hotel. My skin was itching and I began to feel assured that I was reacting to something.. 

I spent the entirety of the next day painting. In the evening, I met Optimum, another painter from New York. He was a charachter. He wore a tophat and had many exciting stories to tell. Johnny kept us company for some time before leaving to visit his lady friend. Optimum and I finished painting for the night. I offered to hos thim in my hotel room if he wanted a place to sleep. He agreed. I told him about my itching sking and inquired if it could be an allergic reaction to paint. He said that it looked more like bug bites, perhaps bed bugs. We stripped the beds and searched for bed bug signs, but found nothing. Slightly paranoid, we climbed into our respective beds and turned in for the night. 

In the morning, I awoke to Optimum's shouting, "Dogg, wake up! Bedbugs!"

It was true, the room was infested with bedbugs. We turned on the lights and began searching in the sheets. Optimum went right into action mode documenting the scene for legal amunition if the situation called for it. We found two bugs crawling in the sheets, and catured them as specimens for evidence. We went to the front desk of the hotel and asked for our money back. I was refunded one nights' worth but was declined the full three nights' payment, as the manager was off premises at the time. We agreed to wait for the manager, as we had a strong case. When the manager arrived, Optimum and I recounted our experiences. He noted that if I did not complain the first night, then I failed to identify the problem and therefore was not able to recieve reimbursement for the stay. I emphasized to him how thus far I had been cooperative and sompassionate to the hotel's situation, and that I had yet to tell any other guest about the situation, or for that matter use the word 'bedbug'. I told him that I meant to be respectfull, but that I intend to recieve full reimbursement for the duration of my stay. I then turned around, unzipped my jacket, and showed him my back. I had around 50 bites across my back. It looked awful. I put my jacket back on and turned to face him. His expression showed concern. I could see him processing the potential lawsuit. He agreed to my terms, and I recieved full compensation for the stay. On our way out, we saw that the room was being stripped and prepared for treatment. 

We went to the wall and painted all day. Optimum painted over my sketched hand to put up a character. His seniority assured that I would not second guess his decision, though it drastically changed the dynamics that I felt pulled the wall together. In the evening, we did our laundry, then checked in to another hotel. 

Miami

Miami has been a bad trip then a good trip. The quality here is astounding.  I had the most beautiful experience talking with new friends tonight that brought clarity. I wish to send a blessing to you my friends and family something that I find high in quality.

 

http://innerislands.bandcamp.com/album/dark-river-welcome-light

Fence Spot

Today I rode to the beach with Shaun, Overstreet and Murphy for brunch. after parking and reserving a table, we took separate pre-meal walks. On my walk I met my friends who where out and about trying to rent a scooter. They had no license and asked me to help them with the rental paperwork. I obliged and went with them to the nearest scooter rental place. The rental was a success. 

Later I went to Wynwood to walk around. I came across a mesh fence in a cutty alleyway with tags on it. It was well lit and close enough to the main drag that it had a constant stream of viewers. I thought it would be a great place for a piece. I bought a couple cans of Kobra paint and banged out a piece. The alleyway immediately improved the more work I did. It felt good to be a positive influencer of experience and interpretation. 

I met a guy named Thor who was an incredible artist at the beginning stages of a notable art career. I stayed out talking with him until 5.

Bicycle Trip

I flew back to Florida to spend a lovely thanksgiving with my parents and Grandmother, Donna. 

I appreciated the time for readjustment and processing of the trip, as I'd been away from my parents home for four months. It was refreshing to take a shower with hard water and shampoo.  

I felt that it was good to have a small Thanksgiving. I was happy to have time to speak with Donna, I'm learing from her wisdom and courageousness. 

After Thanksgiving proper, my mother and I began decorating for Christmas. I helped with stringing lights around the house and made an illuminated representation of a Christmas Tree around a royal palm tree. I planned to go to Miami for Art Basel with some friends. The first rideshare option, with friends Bobby and Morrison seemed like too an elaborate a plan. As a result, my stay with my parents was prolonged, which gave me time to finish a few projects. I was happy to have this time to organize and plan the next steps. I planned to take a bicycle trip to Miami, over the course of three days. When I reviewed this to my parents, I felt that the idea was not recieved with openess. My father was conderned with the lack of bicycle trails and my mother was concerned with the saftey of areas of Miami. I thought their concerns were unfouded, but we came to a compromise when we researched other options. The new plan was to leave from Lakeland, Florida. I would ride my bike the 80 miles south beginning early the following morning. 

Today I woke early, as the bike trip was posed to be a race against the clock. My mother generously offered to drive me an hour out of town to give me a head start, which I happily accepted. We stopped in front of a bike shop, situated to the Withlacoochee Trail, the longest bicycle trail in Florida. Our timing was perfect, as I had a break pad fall off of the bike while assembling it at the same time as the owner of the bike shop arrived for his morning routine (an hour before his shop would open its doors). He offered me a replacement brake pad for one dollar. I fixed the new brake pad into place, said goodbye and thank you to my mother, and was off. 

I made it to the end of Florida's longest bicycle trail after 30 miles. (note: I started halfway through), before reaching a two lane highway with a narrow shoulder. I rode the narrow shoulder for five miles or so. It was a nightmare. The cars that did see me, often were not respectful of giving me distance. I made it to Dade City, where I began to explore my options. I came across an Amtrak station, which upon inquiry, I learned was no longer in service. I learned however, to counter this, Amtrak had a bus taxi departing at noon to connect with the next train stop. I was on hold on the phone with Amtrak for some time before deciding that I would be better off hitchiking if I did it right. I went to a nearby gas station and saw two respectable looking gentlemen. I approached them and asked if they were going south and if so, I could jump in for a lift. I offered them 15 bucks. Their names were Paul and Mike and they were on their way to Fort Lauterdale. I dissassembled my bike and jumped in. They were very friendly and Mike and I shared good conversation about the harmful dogmatism of the local forestry department. They dropped me off in Lakeland, where I reassembled my bike and rode to the Amtrak station. I checked my bike and boarded the train. 

Basel, Miami

I'm at art Basel and hustling for walls. No big wins yet but a few good small ones. Sleeping very little. Eating well. Hanging with old friends and meeting plenty of new ones! 

Iceland

I arrived in Amsterdam with only a few hours to spare. I tried to call Josine to no avail. I would not be able to re-visit Bloemgracht. I grabbed lunch at an incredible burger joint before meeting up with my beautiful lady friend, Leah, in Dam Square.

Upon walking into Dam Square, I recognized Leah immediately. She was donning an alpaca hat, a rather substantial one. We found a hostel for the night. In the morning we went to the Noordermarkt to try to equip ourselves for adventures ahead; later that day we would board a flight to Iceland. Leah sought to complete her alpaca look. After some time, we found a full length coat made from faux white fur. It was beautiful. Truly.

We boarded our flight and landed in Keflavik a few hours later. Leah had reserved a car, but we made a choice to downgrade to a more affordable, two-wheel drive manual transmission vehicle upon learning the conversion rates- not favorable. We shifted the rental into my name, and opted out of the insurance plan. I figured since we were already on top of a bunch of shifting tectonic plates and volcanos we were already in sort of deep-might as well go all in. I did not know how to drive stick, but had plenty of experience with driving motorcycles.

In Iceland, everything was magical. The drive from the airport was magical. The landscape, the food, the people. We fell in love.

We reserved seven days to circumnavigate the island, counterclockwise around highway 1, or the 'ring road'. Our plans were no plans. We stayed the first two nights in Reykjavik, preparing for the journey ahead. Both Leah and I bought boots, as our sneakers proved insufficient even for the snow in and around Iceland's largest town. We went to a convenience store where we bought supplies for the road: a lighter, yoghurt, cheese, bread, and dehydrated fish. Setting out, we didn't know what we were in store for, but we'd seen previews from our short drives the days prior. On the third day, we bought a Björk album, and a book of Icelandic folk tales, and set out. I felt that Björk guided the journey. perhaps I cannot describe it to it's fullest, but I felt as though the one album, gosh I don't even know the name of it, was our trip. It was confusing at first. Neither Leah or I knew much about what was happening; such a foreign place, such a foreign experience. As some time passed, it became clear that we were being romanced. We fell for it and after one week had passed, we found ourselves only half way around the ring road. We cancelled our flights and extended by a week. We began to know the Björk album quite well, as we listened to it on repeat. There was a chorus sequence on the album which without fail would inspire me to look out of the car window at a landscape that mesmerized me like nothing else. As I type this, I can feel the energy form the rocks, I can see the Icelandic horses. I remember hours of driving in the mountains, where all you could see was white white white white white, with yellow markers noting the shoulders of the road on either side and stopping the car five times within an hour to just walk to a rock or a small waterfall, which probably did not have a name, but was more beautiful than  anything. We spent the night at a horse lodge. We swam in geothermic pools whenever we got the chance. We woke up early and drove to the shore of a frozen river to watch the sun rise over distant mountains. We threw snowballs. We checked into a hotel where there was no one else staying; we were the duke and the duchess. We explored trails. We fed wild horses. We sat by a lighthouse a the edge of the world and talked about death. We ate well. We slept in. We took time.

Another week passed. Leah flew out one day before I.

After Leah flew out, I drove back to downtown Reykjavik. I grabbed a cup of coffee at a cafe that we'd become acquainted with in our first days. I'd met a gentleman there who was working on a beautiful drawing. His name was Steindor. He was full of great insights about Iceland. I hoped to see him there again on what was to be my last night in Iceland. It was a couple hours into my cafe visit that Steindor walked in and came to my table. We struck up conversation as if no time had passed. I mentioned that I would like to spend my last night out in the car somewhere away from the city lights. He noted that there were several places that would be suitable, and offered to show me if I gave him a ride. We walked to the rental car and got in . We spent the next two hours driving around Reykjavik while he told stories of different areas of the town, and in what ways Iceland has changed in the past ten years. Steindor spoke with authority, and his opinions were sound. He illustrated the financial crisis and Iceland's recent shift in economic priorities towards tourism (rater than fishing). We came to a rural area where he said I would likely be safe, noting that the only other people out here were smoking weed or having car sex. Seemed like a fine camping spot to me. We went back into town, where I dropped Steindor off at his house. I drove around for a long time, revisiting all of the areas which Steindor had made note of, preparing for the cold night ahead. I made my way into the wilderness on a single lane road. The road became unpaved, and after some time I found a pull-off that would be suitable for a night's rest. The sky was overcast, no romantic stars. It was a cold night, and during my sleep I periodically awoke from chill to restart the car and heat up the cabin again.

In the morning, I took a walk. As was a theme for Leah and I, I was pleasantly surprised by my surroundings upon waking, as they had been shrouded by darkness prior. The landscape was astounding. Mosses over volcanic rock, virgin snow patches remained in the shadows of trees. Small pools of water reflected blue morning sky from atop boulders. I came across two large caves, and walked slowly back into its dark interior. My eyes slowly adjusted and I took a seat. An immense experience. I left.