Wish you could've been here for this one. What happened was, right as I was coming out of the woods and I began approaching the top of what I thought was a bald, a burly storm just up and started brewing out of nowhere. And I mean just up and started brewing out of nowhere. The sky went from sky blue to black in no more than 30 seconds, and before I could even say "31-Mississippi" I was getting nailed with pea-sized hail and being buffeted by a mighty wind and rain.

So, doing some quick math in my head (I was never good at Algebra, so it was real basic math-- like, additions and subtractions) I decided that it'd be better to press on ahead and over "the" bald and to the safety of the next shelter rather than descend back down into the woods and wait the storm out, where I would no doubt be safer from the imminent lightning. Thus determined, I picked up my pace and hurried up the hillside only to find that "the bald" was actually "the mile-long range of balds." This new fact seriously complicated my math, so instead of doing it I just ran. With lightning bolts crashing all around the Highest Point Anywhere and with Metal Poles in His Hands (me), I sprinted across that Baldest Mile fully exposed to the wrath of God. But since He and I were on such good terms, my sprinting had turned to skipping and my curses into joyful hymn-singing. (Isn't there a postmillennial prophecy about that somewhere?)