Writing Practice

She wiggled her toes inside of her boot, trying to relieve the small but growing pain where a wrinkle in her sock was rubbing oddly against her toe.  When that didn’t work, she bent down and adjusted her sock.  She caught a glimpse of the now-filthy hem of her loose nylon pants and sighed.

Adjusting her hat, she started hiking again.  Absentmindedly she rubbed the back of her neck, then frowned down at her hand and rubbed her fingers together. Her skin had the sticky, gritty feeling that was left when sweat captured dust from the air before drying.  She licked her lips and grimaced, tasting the sharp chemical bite of insect repellant.  After a sip of warm, stale water from her bottle, she sighed again and continued putting one foot in front of another.

Rounding the corner, the trailhead came into sight just as a breeze picked up.  Her nose crinkled as she caught a whiff of unwashed human; as the parking area was empty and she hadn’t seen anyone for the last few hours, she knew the acrid stink belonged to her.  Clearing the edge of the woods, she saw her car and picked up her pace.  Her stuff was already loaded, she’d finally found that stupid nuthatch, and it was more than time to head home.  At the end of three days of camping, she was craving nothing more than a hot shower.  She rubbed her forehead and then stared at the filth smeared across her palm.  It would need to be a long, hot shower, with an excessive amount of soap.

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