October 1st, 2017
We never made it to the Falls. A group member was injured, and our already snail-like pace dropped to that of a lethargic sloth. Our stopping every ten or so minutes to sketch or play half hour long games did not help, either. At one point, we stopped at an embankment and sketched the river moving below. However, there were several trees in the way, so I sketched the tree instead.
Eventually, though, we reached the river crossing. The water flowed down the mountain, moving out to sea. We stopped there, and sketched. Below is an image of a felled tree that crossed in front of another tree.
We did not manage to make it to the Falls. This was extremely annoying, to me at least. We hiked back to the lodge (whose materials moved from their place of origin to come there, and whose style of building was an idea that moved from its origin to the ears of an AMC member) and that was that. For dinner we had TACOS. Tacos, a wonderful way of combining meat, lettuce, and various foodstuffs, come from Mexico. We went out and stargazed, and listened to the owls. Then, we went in and listened to a story, which was typed in a book. The book had moved from the place where it was bought in North Carolina. The idea of the printing press also moved from its said origin in Germany to here in the US, where it was applied to make books. We went to bed after that, in bunk beds, which are a way of doing things as well, that moved from their place of orgin to Cardigan Mountain. Almost every part of our day can be attributed to movement.
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