They call me the Breeze
With happy full stomachs, all of us trudge out of the D.Q., under the interstate overpass, along the roadwalk on Va 683, past someone's well-manicured front lawn and back up into the woods. The climb wasn't too bad, slowed by the gravitational pull on our bellies more than anything.
Three miles later, the storms are moving in and it's late enough in the afternoon as we arrive at Davis Path S., we decide to call it a day. We've caught up with Waterboy, too.
There's no water at the shelter - data book says just .5 down trail. Waterboy and someone else offers to go for water, so we load them up with filters and empty jugs. An hour later, they return without water. And it's begun to rain. I had read the wrong page on the databook. Water is 3.5 miles away. Oh shit. I am so sorry, guys. I owe you at least a beer or two.
Breeze played Tarzan on a grapevine. Tore his raingear but what a sight to see him swinging. Heck of a card game -- Hearts for junk food.
Walking along the road past a scattering of homes, looking up to an old man watching us from his porch rocker. One earbud playing 'And it stoned me', a favorite.
'On the way back home we sang a song
But our throats were getting dry
Then we saw the man from across the road
With the sunshine in his eyes
Well he lived all alone in his own little home
With a great big gallon jar
There were bottles too, one for me and you
And he said Hey! There you are
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Get it myself from the mountain stream'
-V. Morrison