Hello? May I ask who's calling?

I stopped to take pictures of the phone in the highway. I left it there because I felt it was a sign, but that it wasn't my sign because I hadn't asked for any sort of sign. I was not contemplating something important when I came upon the phone receiver. I imagine someone in the future coming upon the telephone in the road and changing the course of his life. It is possible.
Should I call her back? Should I answer the phone next time he calls? Should I call about that kitten? If God exists, shouldn't he leave phone receivers around when you need to talk to him?

Limitless possibilities of what it might mean, really. And maybe it was my sign, but I won't recognize its meaning for a long, long time.

Sunday skipping church

Some Sundays are better than others. On this particular Sunday, I ate breakfast with some house guests at a restaurant. The breakfast was not spectacular. My plan was to attend church with my friends, but we had been talking about nature and what not and I decided to go hiking in a new spot instead. So they dropped me off at my house, I packed a quick lunch and headed east.

I try not to let myself get in the habit of finding alternative activities on Sundays since I ought to go to church and worship. But, some Sundays it feels like I've skipped worshiping to go churching, so I suppose it all evens out in the end. And Quivira was awe-inspiring, and I'm pretty certain that God intended that awe and that the awe was as good as singing and listening and shaking hands.

Some things that I learned:
1. I need to get a gazetter, especially if I decide to enter parks from the back way. I wrote the road name in the book I was using so I can enter the back way in the future without the hourlong side trip.
2. The grid system only works if you remember to keep counting.
3. Thank God for "Welcome to Rice County" signs that let me know I was on the wrong road.
4. Selected Shorts is a terrific podcast. (though I admit that not having kids in the car probably allows me to listen to things that my child-rearing peers must forego for a season. The Canoeists by Rick Bass. Wow.)
5. I would really like someone to drive me home after these days so that I can sleep in the car.

If you go, give me a call and I'll bring the insect repellant.

Quivira

The grass was a beautiful color. And soft. Wetlands are a strange surprise in the area. It seems unfair the way trees take over at any sign of adequate moisture. I was glad the grass won here. Wicked droughts, drowning seeds, random fires. I am sure one of the kiosks explained everything, but I am not into retaining information when there is so much walking to do.
July is sort of the off-season here. These birds get all of the prime real estate without much competition. Zoom is a wonderful thing. They all flew away as soon as I took my next step.

This is interesting, but I do not have enough scientific vocabulary left to explain it. This is the dried mucky mossy stuff left from when the water recedes. When I walked on the grass it made a loud crunching sound under my feet. This stuff must have been underneath everything, announcing me as I walked near the water
I got to walk through all of this lovely teddy-bear fur grass. Crunch, crunch, crunching as I walked. I suspect that Quivira is made for a bicycle. I hope to return with one in the fall. I will always prefer walking, but there was so much to see that much of the time there is spent driving. It would be impossible to walk, but maybe if I give myself two days I could do both.

Glint

I could not capture it in color.