The days seem to be impatiently rushing towards the end of the year. October is now only a memory.
Halloween was mild and breezy - a balmy 69 degrees (that's Fahrenheit, for those of you in Oslo). My celebratory mood was minimal: I had pizza and a piece of Mississippi mud cake.
What's Mississippi mud cake?
Heck if I know. It has chocolate and nuts in it. And probably simulated marshmallows. I bought it at the supermarket. My knowledge of exotic southern cuisine is minimal, at best.
What I really love is Mississippi Mud Beer. It's my favorite.
I used to drink it when I lived in Texas. I haven't seen it in Tennessee. I suppose Tennesseans consider it to be an evil concoction consumed by heathens.
The day after Halloween the weather suddenly turned cold, gloomy, and damp. Some of the lovely colored foliage is already withered and turning dire brown.
Yesterday (Friday) I needed to go to the bank and post office in town. It was extremely important and I couldn't avoid it.
It was a chilly 42 degrees - wet, misty, miserable. As I navigated the slick, winding mountain road I continuously cursed myself for living in a rural area. And I yearned for the good ol' days when I used to live three minutes from civilization.
I got back home quite early, since I didn't do any shopping. So I decided to take a quick walk in the wet woods. Mostly to snap a few photos of the remaining foliage.
My boots sank in the mud. And I got caught in a thorn bush. Don't know exactly how it happened, but suddenly two long thorny tentacles wrapped around my legs and I couldn't get lose. The thorns were so sharp that I was afraid to pull them.
As I was standing there, trapped in mud and thorns and wondering how the hell to get loose, I heard gun shots.
It's officially hunting season!
Gun shots always reverberate haphazardly through the forest and hills and it's difficult to tell exactly how close they really are. But these shots sounded uncomfortably nearby.
I finally managed to untangle the grasping thorny things with minimal damage to my hands (some blood, but not a lot). Then I hurried home, while praying that a myopic hunter wouldn't mistake my skinny ass for a whitetail deer.
The joy of living in the wilderness is almost unbearable.
