Bryce Worrell

Host

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Strange, I thought. I had hiked past this dilapidated cabin on the Appalachian Trail many times and had never seen signs of life there. The cracked shutters screamed stay out while the warm light invited me in. I tugged the brim of my hood to ward off the rain pelting mercilessly through the canopy. The falling autumn leaves had taken my breath away during the day, but during a night deluge they provided no protection. My feet ached in my soaked boots, and my joints hurt. I liked the hurt after a good day’s hike. I hated this older, bone-tired feeling. Aging was the worst. Well, perhaps second worst to starving while alone in a rainstorm.