Circus Walk

    I left before dawn, while the other circus people were just waking up to load the myriad animals onto the trucks and move on.  While they were packing up the animal tents and fences, I was walking along the highway - up one hill, down another.  The fragrant evergreens towered on either side, and the occasional car whipping past interrupted my reverie.
    I had Rush on the Walkman, a good route the trucks couldn't take, and peace in my heart.  I knew the distance wasn't too far for me, although I had never walked more than ten miles before.  The oxygen-rich air of the forest fueled me on.  I became hypnotized by the pine trees going past.  I completely lost myself in a feeling of freedom, settling into such a rhythm of perpetual movement and breathing I forgot I was walking. 
    At an intersection, I checked the map (even primatives use maps).  It was just one more mile.  Or, just a quarter-mile, if I took the shortcut.  At 6'4", with the newly-built strength from swinging a sixteen-pound sledge and the verve of a twenty-year old, I decided I could make it through the woods.  To me, it was a maze-like challenge to find the best path through. 
    In late spring, every plant has grown all it is able.  Every bramble patch is at the peak of prickliness.  Vines wrap around other vines twined around trees. 
    The verdant Earth taunted me with its fecundity, as if I had fallen into its clever trap.  No trifling obstacle, this maze had three dead-ends for every path.  The young-growth trees were too small to climb for a sighting of which way to go.  The "clearings" were anything but clear.  (Now, I know what a machete is for.)  When I emerged, I was only 200 yards from the circus - covered head to toe with assorted green shreds.  By the time I composed myself and walked in, it was time for lunch.
    Everyone was impressed, because the truck route was 45 miles.  I had covered twenty miles in five hours, and had spent an hour on the last quarter mile of 'vegetabattle.'