Surface of an old log

 

Snow pelted my face when Whip and I went out for our morning constitutional but had stopped by the time we left the house for a walk.  We walked past the gorge and up the trail between the blackberry canes, along the edge of the woods to the Canadian Hemlock trees, crossed the woods to the old truck trail, followed a rivulet into the lowland the circles the woods,  looped back just above the edge of a large boggy area.  However the land there was too waterlogged to handle the lateral pressure from my boots and gave way underneath me.  I slipped down and into the swamp.  No worries.  Whip noticed me fall and ran over to offer succor and for a chance to lick my face.   I do carry my phone should I get into real trouble - though explaining where I was at the moment might have been a bit difficult.    I extracted myself from the muck in a somewhat undignified way and we continued on home none the worse for the experience.   Only issue was to change out of those jeans before sitting down on anything.