The Air in Meager Valley - February 2010 BRR Mixtape Brigade

Feb 16, 1908

Our hope is frail, now. Be there any sound louder than a whisper and it will dissipate, swirl away right before our eyes. It is gray all around. This curtain of snow masks the detail of anything that is ahead. The surrounding ranges continue to exist; their outlines rising and sliding, dancing as if in mockery. Or is it encouragement? Puzzling. The unbroken trail before us will prove challenging. But, oh, what a place, this valley.

Our supplies are dwindling, gear worn and weathered, grub almost gone. We’ve ceased lunching altogether. Set mealtimes only encourage eating more than what is essential to sustain. Roseblood is skittish, but continues to bob her head to the rhythm of unheard ‘ol timey ditties.

Indeed, there is something queer about this valley.

The wooden sign before the broken town two days past read “Meager Valley.” Its abandoned structures were in shambles. Windows were shattered, the roofs collecting and spilling snow drifts. Rusted store signs dangled haplessly, sheltered wooden walkways gray and splintered with age. And yet, the place did not feel vacant. I dare say haunted, though I haven’t the morale to entertain such idiocy; Ernie would certainly lose his head at the very mention. I find it necessary to conclude that this town grew very quickly and then vanished like fingers pinching out a candle’s flame.

There is an air here in Meager Valley. Intoxicating, almost. The wind that blows on our backs, coming from the abandoned town, carries more than wintry chill; it carries the echoed wills and ambitions of all of those that have ever passed through. Even the ranges that now surround us seem to be carrying us onward. Not like the sirens of Homer’s Odyssey. No. The mystery is not before us, it is already here. The air carries strange vibrations, undercurrents, unseen ribbons of influence. As if the souls that once lived in that ramshackle town followed us out and now inhabit these very peaks, and in blissful solitude sing out with strength and salve, smeared somewhat by distance and wind, but still ring true.

Yes.

We can make the journey.