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.

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