For a large portion of the trail last year, I carried a voice recorder, thinking that I would be like Andrew Skurka and use it to record my every thought, like an audio journal. I actually only used it twice. In the first recording, you can hear me brush my teeth while an owl is calling in the background. In the second recording, I was walking through the wind farms and dictated a poem about the turbines. I found the recorder yesterday and listened to those for the first time. I kind of like the poem!
The wind is calmest in the morning
They wake like giant mechanical beasts of the desert
Like the lion of the robot world
Creaking, like old men poorly oiled
And then, as if teenage boys, decide to go back to sleep
And remain silent until the next gust of wind sweeps through the valley
and they creak awake once more
As the day wears on, the wind picks up
and they begin to spin to life
