Every Sunday, I try to post an excerpt from my novel, The Awakening of Russell Henderson. Here’s another. The book is available at http://www.amazon.com/author/edwardlehner.

During the week, I would find a new spot to locate and explore. I camped and hiked out in the Pioneer Mountains, the Sawtooths, out by Redfish Lake, up out of Galena Pass, out Trail Ridge Road, and even some nice trails closer to town. At first it was hard, but I was gradually becoming more comfortable with being alone, enjoying my solitude more and more. I was getting to know myself.

About two weeks of doing my motel routine, I had just returned to my room to clean up after the Saturday run and meet Abby for lunch when my phone chirped. I saw it was a San Francisco number, took a breath and answered.

“Is this Russell Henderson?” a woman asked.

“Yes, Who’s this?”

“Hello Russell, this is Hanna’s mother, Meg.”

I awoke to wet sidewalks from a rain shower someting during the night. The rain had moved on the the east and black clouds covered the eastern mountains. When things cleared, the mountains had a new fresh covering of snow.

Early morning rain
to dark cloud awakening.
Mountains treacherous.

I was driving through our countryside today and, as always, noticed the hammerhead oil pumps doing moving up and down in their slow monotonous way. A head of cows were in a pasture close by, some already with their newborn spring calves. The scene was mesmerizing so I wrote this haiku.

Hammerhead pumps move
up down up down soothingly.
Cows chew cuds watching.

Every Sunday, I try to post an excerpt from my novel, The Awakening of Russell Henderson. Here’s another. The book is available at http://www.amazon.com/author/edwardlehner.

Monday I awoke stiff and sore and stumbled out and walked around for a little while to loosen up. Yeah, Mike did mention stretching. I meditated. I packed up my camp and went into town. I got a needed a haircut and shave. Then, still too early to check into the campground, I went into a coffee shop. It was slow and I struck up a conversation with the barista, a twenty something woman. 

“So, passing through or a local?”

“Sort of passing through, but here for a while, maybe a month or so.”

And then where are you from, what do you do, kind of small talk. I found out she was a teacher and was working at the coffee shop for the summer. Her name was Abby Preston. She had moved from Wisconsin three years ago. Customers came in and she got busy. I finished my coffee and was leaving when she called to me, “Hey Russ, I’m off at noon. I’ll buy lunch.”

She was an attractive and seemed nice, easy to talk to, so I said, “How can I refuse a free lunch. Where?”