Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that on my “birthday weekend” we hit the trail at 7 p.m. and hiked as daylight waned and darkness prevailed, losing the trail a few times.
The metaphor to life is too cliché, setting off on a trail that seemed straightforward bound for a destination that seemed close, only the next thing you know you’re wondering if you’re on the right track, or following some game trail, then, hours later you set up your tent in the dark. But then — also I hope metaphoric to my life, but I’m still on the trail — you awake to craggy mountains around you. On the slog up you accidentally passed the lake, and ended up on a ridge more impressive than the intended destination.
The verdict of this now 28-years-plus-two-days-old woman is that we came out alive and we’re better for it. But there were a few hairy stream crossings in there.