Boldly Going Where No Mule from Wickersham Has Gone Before

You may recall that I, Fenway Bartholomule, am returning to work after a summer off for my (now resolved) mysterious hock swelling. With my comeback, and because of my voluptuous figure, I am temporarily abstaining from work on concussive surfaces, difficult footing, and precipitous slopes. Unfortunately, my local trails—lovely and abundant though they may be—are comprised mostly of concussive surfaces . . . and difficult footing . . . and precipitous slopes.

Today, FarmWife hitched up the trailer and took me ten minutes down yonder highway to the lovely and thoroughly tamed Cascade Trail, a wide, flat, well-groomed thoroughfare by which walkers, cyclists and equestrians might traverse Skagit county. It was just perfect! Flat as a pancake, beautifully-textured, well maintained, and sparsely dotted with courteous cyclists and perambulators. Along trailside, placid bovines bore quiet witness to our passage, lending to the morning's overall quality of reflective serenity.

The trail did offer the occasional Suspicious Bridge, the first of which we had need to cross thrice—once with FarmWife afoot, blazing the trail and offering herself up as troll bait, then back again and across a third time with me beneath and her astride. The troll, apparently, was sleeping throughout, but I still argue that my suspicion was well-placed. 

We ended our little jaunt and turned back at the pasture of a lovely gray mule and his horse companions, though the trail ahead looked as welcoming as any. We shall go again. 

Ears to you,

Fenway