The Return of the Idiot

It has rained the past few days. By the time the sun comes out again, the calendar says it is Saturday once more.

How I love the mud. The squelch when I pull my hiking boots out. The way it cakes over my boots and pants.

Behind me, I hear a second set of squelching. The idiot makes even a beautiful sound seem annoying. How I know it is the first person I’ve talked to in eleven months besides the mailman is a mystery. But I do.

I turn to find Nick clambering his way toward me. “Hiawatha!”


“Nice to see you , too.” He’s near now. Too near. He’d better watch himself. “Listen, could I follow you around again today? Learn a bit more? This nature stuff is fascinating.”

What could it hurt, Hiawatha?

An hour later, that question is answered.

“Ach!” the imbecile slides down an incline. No wonder. He’s wearing sneakers. He falls in such a way that I know he’s done some damage to his leg.

I pull him up and swallow the swear words at my lips. “What am I going to do with you?”

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