The pups and I came across this little spring tucked deep back in the trail network of Lost Maples Natural Area and we couldn't pass up the chance to soothe our tired paws. We hadn't left camp long before, but already we were footsore and panting from the mid-morning heat. The spring seeped from a little ledge, dripping down into a pool and filtering through the rocks under our feet to join with the seasonal river that carved the canyons and hills around us. Hill Country, especially the area closer to the arid deserts of west and south Texas, is a wild place that calls to me whenever I tire of the oppressive humidity of the piney woods that I call home. I haven't been back to the hills since my visit to Lost Maples, what with the holidays, buying a house, moving, and settling in (ya know, life) but I'm about ready to end my hiatus and head back. I need to get back on the road and get lost somewhere beautiful, if only for a weekend; I feel my well-being deteriorating the longer I stay in one place. This spring just might be calling my name, a siren song that is growing harder and harder for me to resist.
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