The fog rolls lazily over the lake as I stare out over the fire. I feel it in every moment. The stiffness in my leg never really went away. But these cold fall days really leave me stiff and sore. Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe.

The percolator bubbles lazily over the hot coals. Food for the soul as much as the scenery is. Something about campfire coffee. Its just better. As I sit and pour the steaming liquid into a tin cup, I wonder, when was it that I finally couldn't take it anymore?

Some 20 years ago. Before I turned my back on a world that had turned its back on me. Before I turned away for the quiet of miles between us. I was lost. Not anymore.

The steam and fog become memories. I don't really feel like being sentimental, but the pain worsens and I cant help but remember. This place far from everything. This is where I want to be. I push the memories away. I cant feel the heat from the cup anymore.

My eyes have clouded and I close them. The cup slipped from my hand. I am content. Its time. I'm ready...

"Into the mountains I go...to lose me mind...and find my..."