Amish Hunters
Few things are as strange as passing an Amish man in camouflage hunting gear, wielding a compound bow, and riding a pink scooter brought me into the state of strange. One of the odd views during a late autumn ride.
I should have realized I had crossed into the state of strange. Instead I continued to believe I was taking part in an idyllic meandering through the forests of central Pennsylvania. As a defense against the worsening pandemic I compartmentalize concerns, facts, fears, and experience to allow me to move through the world as if everything was fine.
I can’t help thinking now about missing the warning signs of my heart attack of nearly six years ago. Or that the state of strange in which I now live is the new normal.
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