This weekend I slept outside and swam in the Knik River. In between, we rode to a glacier.
Earth and sky communicate through moisture. They write their stories in trees and moss, mud puddles and wildflowers, growth and decay. I spend weeks trail riding in the rain through the Belgian woods. My clothes and skin swell. My wool mittens become damp moss growing over my fingers and around my handlebars. Everything perspires. Like bathing in a creek, it is at once musky and fresh, cold and sweaty. They earth layers a story over my skin and into my hair.
Eastern Belgium, May 2013