"Will you pass the trail mix, John?" the question sounded crisply in the mountain sunlight.
Since a young boy I've had the background fear of spontaneous teleportation.
On Monday we ventured to the spiring (cough), no, in-spiring (cough), no...okay just old Wichita Mts. in SW Oklahoma. A great outing on many fronts.
But it was in those foothills that this thought of teleportation revisited me with sudden candor. Not sure why.
And I remembered lying awake at night in years past, contemplating being suddenly ripped from my warm sheets and dropped down in sundry, distasteful armpits of the globe:
-deserted windswept mountain tops.
-broad expansive deserts.
-wooded wilderness with bears
-and the MOST fearful location:
-THE OCEAN- in the water with only a life jacket and manflesh-eating G. Whites finning on all sides.
NOTE: This particular thought caused me not a little discomfort.
And what would take place once I teleported to these places?
What would I do?
What would happen to me?
What would attack me?
"OH. What?" I snapped back into reality in the Wichitas, coming out of the gray matter wonderland.
"Yeah, sure, here's the trailmix."