Echo Mountain Scramble

"Gentleness and focus."

Almost stepped on a snake that was not hissing or rattling — reinforcing my refound mantra above, as I scamper through semi-precarious terrain and shrubbery.

Any excitement, premature dreaming beyond my next step, met me with a spill or catch or crumble. No more quelling myself (for I was growing impatient to get to the ridge, tired from scratching through brush off trail) with fantasizing elation at the end. Any misstep could mean death.

Finally a trail! I could follow it right and down — to safety, to sunlight, to home.

Or I could go left, in search of the summit on the overgrown and possibly snake-laden trail.

The sunlight's sobering. 3 fingers, 45 min left.

I wonder if the birds can see the snakes.

I take a step — towards the summit aches my heart; towards home feels like a blanket.

I start down. Oh, it's so overgrown. I so wish I could run, but there's a scent of snakes.

"Gentleness and focus."

A beautiful bench seems to have, like an apparition, summoned itself to linger with the last light.

The way to it overgrown with foliage.

I leave it for another tomorrow.

Past the powerlines, I can finally run free.

My path leads back — in a lovely twist of fate — to the bench.

I feel an echo of the realization from 2 days ago.

I sat with future and past lovers.

Made my way to the scooter, covered in bugs, dust, and scratches. Tiny thorns laden both hands, even some on the tips of places I didn't think likely or probable.