I left Milwaukee on Interstate 94, headed west.
Thirty miles out of town, the city seems to dissolve. My little car travels down a mixture of rural streets and hidden highways. It shudders in the wake of the trucks that rush past us on their way to somewhere else.
A few more turns and even the trucks fade away. I am on the Ice Age Scenic Route.
Scuppernong. In the summers, it links a series of heavily wooded hiking trails to the larger national Ice Age trail. In the winter, it's a cross-country skier's paradise with different trails for almost every ability level.
The trail head is all but empty. A storm is coming, but I have a couple hours before it hits and I have been cooped up inside for far too long.
I can take the Green Trail, 5 miles around, in the time I have.
It's warm and I am savoring the sunlight as I hit the trail. The greens and browns of this place are amazing. There is slightest hint of rain on the wind, but I am taking my time.
Trees, wind, and wildlife all seem to be carrying on their own conversation, oblivious or indifferent to my passing.
I pause to take my pictures, but I can feel the press of the coming storm in the wind.
I can see it in the shifts of light each time my camera clicks.
I am more than halfway through when the clouds start to threaten and I can hear the rumbling in the distance.
I am still miles from the trail head, though.
I may not beat the rain this time.
I should be hurrying.
"You can always come back," I tell myself.
This is true, but it's never really the same place. Living places always change.
So I get wet. I'm okay with that.
I watch the rain drip from the brim of my hat and smell damp earth and plants.
When I do return, my little car is there waiting for me alone among the trees.
The rain is still falling gently when I arrive, but the wind is picking up and the thunder is getting louder.
It is time to go. The storm will be here soon.
© 2026 Geoffrey Gimse