Wrinkled Land

I feel so wealthy for all the people in my life, my support, my family/friends (friends so close they are like family and family so close they are like friends) (FF). Parked outside my FF's home I am able to . . .
rest and refresh just south of Kansas City. Trees feeling the cooler nights have begun to change the color of their leaves and begin the shutdown for winter. Leaves begin to carpet the floor in multi-colors. My dogs are ecstatic to run free in the huge backyard and play with Rusty. They run, and run, and run, and . . . Only if you were a stone could you keep from smiling while watching them frolic about.  No, I take that back, I think the rocks were smiling also.

Sunday I met Missouri once again with it's steep hills that rise and fall and do it all over again. Memories of our round-trip bicycle tour to Iowa and back begin to play in my head. The momentum gain on the way down would only take us three-quarters of the way up where we had to winch the tandem the remainder of the hill to the top only to do it all over again. Coming back to the present I see that farmland now lay with short, dry, stiff, day-old stubble as I pass an occasional farmer riding equipment most probably to storage. Down and up I go. As memories spin around my head my emotions begin to play like the hills, down and up, down and up. The day ends well with FF texts and a phone call.

I pass the Missouri River today and I am met with land with less wrinkles. I wear a light jacket in the morning as I break camp at a Corps of Engineers' campground. The day warms again to the mid 60s but tonight will be around 32. Beautiful weather.  The attendant of 'Champaign Sportsman Club campground asks, "Are you traveling alone?"
"My husband died. I'm trying to carry on," I respond.
He says, "Oh, that's difficult. But it's something you gotta do."

He's right, you know. It's something I gotta do.