After a morning of writing, imagine

...going out for coffee just to get away from it. You're sitting there, eating a warm cinnamon-pear scone and trying to shake the dense lines out of your head, when someone you know sits down at your table and tells you this. Well, this summer it happened. Greg sat down and told us the whole story. I always thought I'd shake my head, roll my eyes and exclaim my usual oh please! if anyone told me such a story, but the weird thing was I just sat there and listened as if what I was hearing was nothing out of the ordinary. Obviously I consider him a reliable narrator. Rather than questioning the story, I wondered what I'd do in that situation. H and I spend a lot of time in the bush in that same area. How wonderful it would be to see such a thing. Every time I think that, a little voice tells me I should be careful what I wish for.