the way the chilly air is hitting me through my window reminds me of foss. i smell pine. i feel anticipation. 5, 7, 9 tomorrow? more? less? who cares, as long as i'm moving.
satiny feel of my sleeping bag. always the navy one. softer.
sometimes i thought i could hear other cabins talking quietly. could have been crickets.
that burn of wanting, waiting, excitement.
i remember.
lw
