It's my Dad's birthday. He is fifty-something. He still beats me in half marathons and runs up mountains.
:::
If I could draw, I would draw for you the morning dew on spiderwebs, and a circle of JetBoil worshippers, hunched over steaming mugs of tea and coffee. Everyone is smiling through clenched, shivery teeth. Cold, they're still thrilled to be sleeping and peeing in the woods.
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