The rock beneath me is smooth, nearly perfect for sitting upon. If I narrow my eyelids just shy of closed the aspen leaves look like flickering gold-green lights among the dark evergreen stillness. The sound of the wind is my soul, it moves like waves through the forest. It breathes on my skin.
The path breaks over the land in remnants of ancient boulders; the small rocks shift under my feet as I climb.
Descending it slowly molts into dirt and crushed pine needles, rocks with streaks of orange and black peppering the way underfoot.
I drink in the depth of the mountains arcing above me, the creek flowing joyfully below my feet padding on a wooden bridge. Lacey darts into the underbrush only to return minutes later once she’s chased some innocent forest creature, panting exhaustedly.
Tomorrow I’ll wake up early and leave for the mountains with only Lacey as a companion. I’ve taken the next two days off of work for the sole purpose of spending quiet time among the mountains with my feet to guide the way.