Nothing spectacular about his clean little rest area outhouse, except I want to remember it. I entered the men's stall, and they were tiny stalls, and took of my vest to use the facility. My keys fell out of my vest pocket and hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity, on their way into the hole, the pit of despair. I screamed, and kicked at them and flailed my arms and by good fortune struck them to the wall before they passed the rim of no return. It made me wonder if I would have eventually gone in after them or walked the rest of the trip. Then that made me wonder what and what any of us would do. What is the limit.
I am not weatherman, but these snowy roads convinced me to turn the wagons south and head out of the continuing snow. Like the good animals, since I don't hibernate, I am migrating to warmer pastures.
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