This is the homestretch. I chose a campsite near a friendly miniature stonehenge set atop a few large boulders. If I was superstitious, or five, I'd say it was the kind of thing that benevolent forest sprites would dance around in the night. The valley shelters me from the worst of the west wind. My food is light on my back, but I'm too close to the car to worry about emergency rations in the event of a hungry nighttime visitor. I do discover a hungry nighttime visitor, though herbivorous, while digging the last cathole of the evening. The deer isn't quite afraid, but not quite comfortable with me either, and so walks away to a less crowded district with many an over-the-shoulder glance and a tense tail.
This is also my first night of clear skies. The stars might be even more spectacular if not for the strength of the full moon, bright enough to make a flashlight unnecessary. In my tent, I imagine I'm car camping next to someone who has forgotten to turn off their headlights.
I take a lazy morning, journaling, taking pictures, searching for the scarce birds, and generally procrastinating my departure of the wilderness. I don't want to rest my feet in a car for six hours. I don't want to rest my self at a computer for the rest of my life. I just want to keep walking, forever.