Of late, wistful voters from across the country have found themselves drawn to the heart of upstate New York, traversing the deep woods to find me, Hillary Clinton, formerly your Presidential front-runner, now your flaxen-haired Sasquatch of Chappaqua.
The coveted jewel of their quests, a candid selfie with me, serves as a hopeful reminder to city dwellers that I'm going to keep being alive and going outside and stuff, despite not being President. Witnesses shall return with tales of my poise and makeup-less face, not seeming to get that people generally don't put on makeup to go on solitary walks through the woods, regardless of political standing.
Should you seek me through such a journey, you will know me by my fleece of many colors, my frisky husband, and my small dog. You will lay before me your disappointment and sorrow, and I will say, "Do not give up."
You will feel peace as you watch me wander out of the clearing and disappear into a copse of trees, leaving you to wonder whether you even saw me to begin with—the only lingering sound that of Bill steadily crunching a Kind bar as he follows.
Though it is still early in my reign as Forest Matriarch, I have already developed the mystical skill of not making noise while walking through dry leaves, so you may not hear me approach. It is an ancient ability afforded only to us, the politically defeated forest walkers of upstate New York.
If, on your quest, I do not appear to you straightaway, do not worry!
I sometimes materialize in the form of a snowshoe hare hesitating in the bramble. When, as a hare, I make direct eye contact, be sure to avert your gaze! In hare form, I startle easily.
Other times, I may appear in the guise of one of several bodies of running water, such as a brook, stream, or tributary. (I no longer assume rivulet form.) As such, I will babble, gurgle, gush, or trickle, as is appropriate. In the interest of saving you time translating, my message, again, will be, "Do not give up."
I may speak through the wind, be it a Canadian gust that seems to get right under the collar of your overpriced parka, or a salty Atlantic draught that makes one remark, "This is why we don't go to the beach in the winter." And once more—you guessed it—I will be imploring you, "Do not give up."
At still other times, you may find yourself standing face-to-face with Michael Dukakis, who has wandered this sacred grove since his Presidential loss, in 1988. (To be clear, this is not me in one of my forms—it is actually just Michael Dukakis walking his dog.)
No matter what, dear seekers, know this: being that my message is pretty much always "do not give up," it is fine for you to heed my words from the comfort of your homes and not search for me in the forest near my house, nor track me down in the little shop where I pick up Kind bars for Bill and high-end dog food.
And you can certainly trust that I have not given up even if, as you approach, I quickly pick up after my dog and hurry along the path back to the main road from which I can unlock my car door remotely. It's just important to get some exercise, even when it's cold outside.
