In the shadow of a faded cactus that blinked out just to the south, behind a red bullseye lies an icy entrance to a land carved by glaciers. Alone, I started my journey with a gentle voice counting down, 3, 2, 1… Go. Each minute marked off in feet and elevation but with no metric predetermined. I entered the woods on a climb through a path familiar but abandoned during the winter slumber. In the shadows of the trees I could hear the rustle of life and I remembered the many times I had been here before, but never quite like this. Rambling alone might imply solitude but in each rock and stump I can feel the presence of the past.

As I rose above the tree line and the sky opened up I let go of things never forgotten and paused to honor the memory.

By the lake I saw it again; my past before me and sitting by my side.

Up again, to the very center of the ring of asphalt, perched on rock and wood I took it all in again. It is here that I feel at once lost and all things lost, but somehow know exactly where I am and let the touch of the earth embrace me with warmth once more.