Ghost Mountain

You have to be willing to make a detour...and the road, though paved, is full of potholes. Of course that doesn't mean people slow down in the least. They seem to know where the holes are in time to swerve around them while they are whizzing past me at 70 miles an hour. I'm sure the speed limit on those roads is forty five, because it isn't posted, but they must think there is no limit. Ah well, there's very little traffic out here, even on a day so beautiful. It's around seventy five degrees; thy sky is full of poofy clouds, and there's a myriad of little red roads to explore.

Claye and I took a little time off from our drive home. (Actually we added a few minutes to the drive home...which, oddly enough comes out to the same thing) After inadvertently entering a driveway and asking directions from the farmer's wife, we found a road that led right up to the foot of what looked like "Ghost Mountain". (It's Oklahoma, ok? Anything taller than the grain elevator is called a mountain) I don't know where it got its name. Really, there's no place for ghosts to hide on it at all, but that's what the kids called it. Looking at it up close reminded me of a certain sophomore class party a few years ago when we decided to climb Ghost Mountain.

It was an easy climb to the top, and I probably would have forgotten the whole incident were it not for the foolish insistence of three girls who, ignoring advice and clearly stated direction, decided to climb it once more after supper so they could "watch the sunset from the top". They slipped away as we cleaned up the picnic detritus. We called. They giggled and pretended not to hear. Soon, they sighed triumphantly from the top as the sun slipped down into the wheat fields. Suddenly, it was dark. They had no flashlights, not even cell phone lights because they hadn't been invented yet. There was a lot of squealing, and terror, and bold rescuing on the part of the brave guys in the class, who led the clinging girls back to the safety of the ground--which lends understanding and perhaps motive to the girls' uncharacteristic lack of judgment.  They all made it down to the cars with only a few scrapes and bruises.  I fussed and fumed all the way home about how the party could have ended in broken legs and backs, and who knows what! By the time I got home, I had murmured it out of my system and was able to face the rest of the year without strangling a small subset of the sophomore class. Never-the-less, I haven't taken any more classes on a "Mountain-climbing" party.

Today, Claye and I parked the car beside the road and got out. If we had only obtained permission from the farmer, who was plowing nearby, we might have ventured a small climb of our own. As it was, we just poked around a bit and took pictures.













Our three word Wednesday prompt was : cling, murmur, taken