I'm back from the city, Beantown, I am. Five days of urban living complete with traffic, trains and tall buildings. And all the accompanying noise and confusion. A mass of humanity moving to and fro 24/7.

It's exhilarating and energizing. But I can only take so much. So after business was complete yesterday afternoon I was happy to bid adieu to fair Boston and head north.

To unpack the suits and ties, shiny shoes and briefcase. Only to repack again tonight. This time with fleece and sleeping bag, boots and tent. And books, precious books.

And notebook. To record what I see and feel as I walk the trails of beautiful Nahmakanta. Past lakes and ponds, over streams, up the hills, beneath the shade of the spruce and fir.

To think. Quietly. About what was, record what is, and dream of what may be.

With half of Travels with Charley remaining, Steinbeck will be traveling with me. I am consuming it as though it were a drug and I an addict. The urge, the itch to go is back (as if it ever left?) and Steinbeck's words help only to load up the trunk of my car.

Encamped at some peaceful tentsite, I'll next take up with William Least Heat Moon and begin down Blue Highways. Moon will no doubt fill my tank with gas. And by it's final pages I could be road bound. Such is the influence on my unquenchable desire to travel. To see. To do.

I peeked through Blue Highways already and on the last page found this:

Lines from a Navajo Wind Chant
Then he was told:
Remember what you have seen,
because everything forgotten
returns to the circling winds.

Yes, see, really see. And remember. Life is short and uncertain and precious. Live conciously so as to live well, fully, richly.

These thoughts and more will be with me on the trail on this long weekend in the restful and renewing wilderness.