Lost Dutchman

The fabled tales of hidden gold in Lost Dutchman circle my mind as I enter one of the newly built cabins here in the park. The expansive Sonoran desert inspires as I stroke my long whiskers while the sun sets. I catch a glimpse of myself in a windows reflection and hardly recognize the face I see.

Out here is when I can lose the concept of time as it relates to the world during the working week. I dont need to be on any schedule, and follow my instinct and passion instead.

I ride my bike on the desert trails, ducking and dodging cacti as I weave through the campground. The cool March morning tickles my skin.

My stomach grumbles and so I light the propane stove. It isnt the perceived time to eat, but out here I listen to my body and refuel only when hungry. Three meals a day is not for everyone, dare I say it is for anyone. Listen to what your body really needs, as it knows better than anyone else.

I go looking for the lost treasures in the Superstition mountains but find only a rattler catching some sun. I hike for hours in the desert wilderness, carefree and wild.

I get some strange looks, but the world need not worry, I am not a Charles Manson. My crazy eyes and wispy beard are from years of solitude and the freedom of expression that has accompanied that loneliness, not delusion.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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