And I have been surviving now for over 100 days. I have yet to encounter a single soul and I doubt I ever will but I am not alone in the wilderness. The cold is a constant companion here in Desolation Point, it creeps in the gaps in my seam-work reminding me that the need of repair is as constant as the pulse in my veins. There are plenty of hides back at the Lonely Lighthouse both curing and cured, I intend to make a new pair of Rabbit gloves soon.
I note looking at the frostbite damage to my hand that it wasn’t soon enough. I made a simple mistake really getting overly involved in a hunt, not paying enough attention to the numbness in my hands. My only hope is the disfigurement will not affect either the hunt, wood splitting or anything else for that matter in the future. I know, however, that my grip will always and forever be effected that is simply the reality of my life beyond.
During the early days I remember a hope. The hope that one day I might run into someone else, another survivor like me. That hope has now faded, yet there is still companionship, for God goes with me where ever I go. And His word is stored in my heart, by which I mean my mind, ready to pull forth at any time.
So when I go out into the wilderness I know that I am stepping out into a dangerous and living creation. The animals I will hunt is His provision to me and for that I am very thankful, the mostly eaten venison on my plate proves that.
I pray for His continued grace upon me tomorrow when His mercy will be new as He has promised each morning.