Funny thing about Refuge Routes; after enough noble efforts on them, we begin to develop a weird sense of ownership. It’s like, we kinda think we are Lord Master of this route and all her delights and tortures because we’ve tested our body, mind, and spirit over this same canvas of terra firma countless times through countless seasons of rain, snow, heat, and hail. We know how she feels as the early morning wall of light glints like a string of pearls through the pine boughs or marsh grasses. We’ve felt the fear of upcoming darkness on this route when Grandfather Sun slipped too quickly behind the buttes and cloaked our sweaty body with a shock of cold getting colder.
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