Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

spot offered a view of the home ranch, still almost two miles away. It wasn’t that Hugh expected to see any detail in the fading light, even with binoculars, but it was comforting for him to know that Jenny was still nearby.

After dismounting, he unsaddled Buck and led him to a little clearing that had some grass for the horse to graze on. He didn’t tie him or hobble him, thinking that if something came up in the night, like a bear or mountain lion, or moose, he didn’t want Buck injuring himself trying to get away. Hugh knew the horse wouldn’t stray too far from where Hugh would be bedding down for the night.

 Hugh used his knife to skin the rabbit, and to prepare it for roasting on the little fire that he had just built. He was reminded of the serious action that his knife had seen just recently.

As he busied himself with the rabbit, Hugh couldn’t help but think about the extreme difference between his truck driver life, and what he was experiencing in this quiet, almost primeval, forest. He wasn’t able to relax just yet. He knew it would take some time for him to completely unwind from the events of the past week. But, he also knew that the forest would begin to work its magic on him, and he’d come out of it a whole new person again.

The main difference this time, Hugh reminded himself, was the major complication that Jenny had brought into his life. No forest was going to help him with that problem.

What to do about Jenny.

Once the skinned and cleaned rabbit had been speared through with a green stick, and suspended to cook slowly over the nearly smokeless fire, Hugh spread out his ground cloth, situated his saddle as a back rest, and then sat down, leaning back on the saddle.

He gave himself over to the forest. He could hear Buck munching on the flavorful grass. And he could hear the soft sighing of the breeze working its way through the forest trees, along with the gentle trickling of a nearby small stream.

The sights and sounds of this forest solitude were so different from the noisy, busy cacophony of sight and sound that he usually encountered while on the road, and at truck stops and shippers’ locations.

Hugh interrupted his contemplative reverie every few minutes to turn the rabbit on its spit so that it would get cooked evenly. The smell was becoming tantalizing.

Hugh lost track of time.

Then slowly, Hugh noticed, the observable perimeter of his campsite begin to shrink as night began to claim the forest. Before much longer, his whole world consisted only of the sound of Buck still grazing in the little clearing, the trickle of the little stream, the crackle of his little fire, and the sizzle and dripping of the nearly-done rabbit.

This was always a magical time for Hugh on these outings. It was when he could feel the healing begin, when he knew that tomorrow would be a new, different, and better day.

A check of the rabbit told Hugh that it was finally fully roasted, so he began to eat it, foregoing a plate and fork in favor of just picking at it with his bare fingers.

Delicious, absolutely delicious, was Hugh’s only thought as he ate the rabbit down to bare bone. Hugh was well aware that one couldn’t live off rabbit—there simply wasn’t enough fat in the lean meat to sustain a person for long. But, it was definitely a tasty treat for someone coming off of the road, and all that went with being out there doing that job.

Finished with his grazing, Buck wandered over to join Hugh by the fire. Hugh had finished with the rabbit, so he led Buck over to the stream, where they could both take a good long drink.

“Well, boy. I don’t know about you. But, I think I’m just going to turn in for the night,” Hugh said to Buck.

He spread out his sleeping bag, took off his boots, and climbed in. That’s when he remembered that he had thought to pack his Bible. He rummaged around in his saddle bags until he found it.

“You know what, Lord? I’ve been neglecting reading your Word. And, I’m thinking that you probably have something to tell me about me and Jenny,” Hugh said out loud.

He saw Buck prick his ears at this new turn of conversation.

With Bible in hand, Hugh stared up through the forest canopy, seeking the God-feeling that he always experienced whenever he was in the forest alone on a clear night.

There you are, Lord. Thank you.

Hugh then stirred the fire, and threw on a couple more sticks to build it up to get more light. He leaned in closer to the fire, deeply content with being in the forest at night. With the only sound being Buck’s gentle breathing, and the crackle of the fire, Hugh began to visit with God.

Not knowing just yet where God would lead him in his Bible, Hugh turned to one of his favorite, most-comforting, passages. As it turned out, it was the exact right one.

"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."

“That’s Romans eight twenty-eight,” he told his horse. “And, you know what, Buck? God really does mean what he says, and says what he means.”

Buck pricked his ears again toward Hugh, and blew gently through his nose in agreement.

“Yeah, that’s right, Buck. There’s no catch to it. ‘All things’ doesn’t mean some things, or only a few things, or only when God feels like it. It means all things.”

Buck nickered gently, stepped closer to Hugh, and then lowered his head to nuzzle Hugh’s Bible.

“And, see here, Buck. ‘For good’ means … for good.