"Until I'm dead," the elder of

  the Conservancy group huffed out the words because tiring.  A peaceful morning coffee had broken into a rigorous schedule of appointments.  The people of all ages hanging on for every word spoken were un-phased by the minor cussing at aches and pains. 

  A sock, bloody at the heel, had been hung on a tree branch.  "It was probably a hiker's sock," the elder announced.  "Doesn't look like a bloody massacre." 

  "True," a middle-aged, mild mannered man who cares agreed.  "But with everyone on one channel of 'public' communications we had to do due diligence." Others nodded solemnly.