Total Miles: 345.3
A sandy ridge near Lesjavri – July 11, 2016
The rain stops at midnight. I wait, listening for the patter of drops to return, drifting in and out of sleep, then pack up my tent and began to walk under the grey sky.
The sun hangs low, rising from the north, only a glow behind the sheet of grey, but the clouds have a different edge to them. They feel higher, thinner, less soaked with rain.
I follow the trail south, when I can find it. It appears and disappears as I walk, sometimes guiding me across the ridges, sometimes leaving me to figure out the bog mazes on my own.
Thin sheets of rain drift across the landscape, hanging in the air like white veils. There is no power to them. They are just the remnants, spilling nothing more than a few drops that evaporate in the wind.
The sun rises higher, swinging up and eastward. It burns thin, white seams into the clouds. The grey sheat begins to lift and crack apart. Blue gaps of sky open up and color floods back into the land. The world is no longer a ring of grey. I see the mountains I’ve crossed, the valley I’m following. I feel movement across the land again.
The blue cracks grow, spreading, shattering the clouds into a thousand white puffs that drift high in the wind. Lakes shimmer in light. The tundra glows green.
I walk on, trying not to guess how long the sun will last, trying only to enjoy that it is here.
Also, side note, thank you to the Czech fishermen and woman who gave me fish, this time not only already filleted but also cut up and marinated in salt and pepper. If this keeps going, the next fisherman I meet will have already cooked the fish!