Crunch, crunch

Eggshells underfoot.
I detest eggshells. Ever get one in your omelette? The feeling as you bite down on it is unpleasant, but can't match the one of walking on them. Even worse is knowing you will, and being unable to avoid that inevitable.
Every step is bound to make that dreaded crunching (reverberates through nerve endings painfully), and so you wait, and hone your tread-lightly skills.
It should be second nature, for the path stretches back as far as I can see, and well into the future. There are little breaks, here and there. For that I am grateful.
The eggshell path leads up the steepest slopes.
The wind is roaring, and pummeling the already-stressed trees. Good night to climb in bed and pull the covers over one's head.
Hey, at least my shoes are dry, today.