November 25th, 2003


(no subject)

Bitter cold. Ice crunches around patches of frozen slush. Crazed, dayheat buckled, dirt swirled into glass ice lines much of the path and the lake shore. The day died early behind western clouds the color of cold iron edged in blood, and the frigid night sky is filled with the cold light of stars. The wind whips ice particles into the air and steals my breath away as it howls and rushes towards the dark plains.

Miles to Rivendell: 397.6