Date: 9.18.2224
Location: Between the Dust and the Delta – Borderline Wastes
Status: Relieved & Reflective
Somewhere between Texas grit and Louisiana, nature called and didn’t ask permission.
I found myself straddling a rust-choked bridge, mid-span over what used to be a proud river. Now it’s just a sullen vein of murk and bone, crawling slow under the weight of years. The wind was strong, but not strong enough to drown out the gut-turning reminder that Brahmin jerky don’t play fair after day three in the heat.
No shelter. No outhouse. Just sky, silence, and the occasional scream of a scavenger bird too lazy to hunt. I had to make do—boots planted wide, eyes scanning every shadow for radroaches or worse. There’s a unique kind of spiritual clarity that comes when you’re half-squatted over a bridge with your rifle leaned just within reach and your pride clinging by a thread.
This is the unspoken side of survival. Not every moment is glory and gunfire. Some are just gut checks... literally. And yet, even in this crude pause, I’m reminded: the body has its own truth. Even out here in the in-between, the flesh makes demands, and the land don’t wait.
Lesson etched in iron and humility: Never pass up a rest stop.
Especially when your last meal was aged in salt and guilt.
I’ll press on now. Lighter. Sharper. And far more aware of terrain features that double as cover.
—Big Chief
Still crossing. Still human.
No comments:
Post a Comment