In the days leading up to Hurricane Florence the woods are saturated with an eerie sense of calm. Mist gathers into rain drops on the leaves, a continuous gentle patter among the trees from which the only other sound is an occasional muffled bird call. It may be the quietest day I’ve ever experienced on the trail. Whether this is due to my own anticipation of what is to come or because nature itself senses the impending storm, ...
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