![]() I stay warm huddled in my old worn and patched sleeping bag all to aware of the beating we’re taking and the likelihood of catastrophe. It’s a matter of probabilities and my number hasn’t come up yet. Or it could be just that I’m lucky, I’d like to think of it that way. ![]() If gods out there he’s watching out for me regardless, there’s plenty of proof for that. I guess I figure that if I didn’t need to pray then I don’t need to pray now. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered gale force winds and it certainly wont be the last. ” That sums up my feelings on the situation. I can recall a song by Robert Earl Keen called Tom Ames Prayer with the line “prayin’s the same as beggin’ lord I don’t take no charity. For a moment I almost consider praying, but quickly cast the foolish gesture aside. The thin aluminum poles bend and sway with every gust. The wind is howling outside and for a few seconds I wonder if our feeble nylon shell can take it. This short fictional story is a piece of that madness. ![]() Authors note: While being tent bound for days waiting out epic spring snow storms in the Chilkat Range of Southeast Alaska, any escape from the monotony is welcome.
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