Mid July, and hiking up the White Mountains.
I’d rather read a book
about climbing a mountain than climb one myself.
Though according to Charlie this isn’t a mountain, it’s a hill.
Too bad Charlie, i’m gonna call it a mountain.
It’s surprisingly hot for Alaska.
Chooch has her own name for the mountains.
It’s her Mach-cha-ben-ya rocks,
named such because of the movie.
Prime place to hoist Simba above your head.
Mud is getting all over me.
Far away from any cell service,
Far away from any cute coffee shops
where I could curl up and read.
Is the air getting thinner?
I am John Krakauer.
Side cramp, side cramp.
Chooch has been born and raised in Alaska,
which is evident in her apparel.
Her orange, checkered shorts clash
with her purple shirt.
The thirteen-year-old then
dares me to do something that is harder then hiking.
“Pro-Con list, Liz,” says Chooch.
“It’s the only way you’re gonna get through this.”
No comments:
Post a Comment