I slide on those battered Columbia hikers leaning off the side of my hammock swinging trail side. 

The feel of warm wet socks from the day before slipping unwanted inside a frozen shoe.

With the crunch of snow and clanging of spikes, like a herd of turtles we go stomping down that trail. 

To hell with the world out there, I put mine in a pack for my shoulders to bear.

Follow that blaze and see what we see, surely one of us will have to pee three times before those shoes unthaw. 

But for the glory of the view and the vibe pushing through we walk on with wet feet to the beat where the beer and the burger dwell. 

Rejoice in the hops and grease while the warmth brings want for that cold trail.

Away from the hustle of town and into the gloom of the snow covered pines to lay our heads in nylon and down filled dreams. 

To wake in the cold morning with that aroma of coffee and isobutane burning off that frosty brow.

We linger in the warmth of the puffy quilts knowing it’s back to the grind of life at the end of that trail.