Usually I walk down the hill by the fields. Down the hill there is more sun. The dirt road is smooth and unrutted. Up the hill the smooth road disintegrates into muddy tire tracks. The way is darkened by trees. There are fewer houses. Just three. And it is hunting season I think. I could get shot. I have heard someone target practicing, not today but now and then. It is all a little scary.
I walked to the crest of the hill, then down a ways toward the highway, then back. Someone's dog barked. Tied up thank goodness. On my way home, a pickup truck drove up behind me, but then turned down a side road. Where did he come from? Where was he going? The driver wore camouflage, like hunters do. It feels like an adventure, to walk up there.