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desperanceI have left my spoor in a national park. Even as we speak, a mountain lion is sniffing out my blood-trail; I confidently expect it to track me back to Laramie and eat me in the pub. With ketchup. (Why yes, I do think cats can do anything.)
Actually, the hike was nearly over and I only tripped over something - a rock, a declivity, something - on the trail. And I didn't hurt my camera, and I didn't break my glasses, and I didn't tear my clothes. I just scraped my nose, and maybe jerked my neck a bit; that's kind of sore now. Mostly it was all about the blood, though. (Scalp wounds, as we know...)
And I should like to point out that I wasn't even late for class afterwards, despite showers and daubing with neosporin and changing clothes and all sorts. And reporting in sick to the wife, that too.
Actually, the hike was nearly over and I only tripped over something - a rock, a declivity, something - on the trail. And I didn't hurt my camera, and I didn't break my glasses, and I didn't tear my clothes. I just scraped my nose, and maybe jerked my neck a bit; that's kind of sore now. Mostly it was all about the blood, though. (Scalp wounds, as we know...)
And I should like to point out that I wasn't even late for class afterwards, despite showers and daubing with neosporin and changing clothes and all sorts. And reporting in sick to the wife, that too.