A Longer Trail for some

But I enjoyed the 30.8 miles of it that I hiked, in the best company possible. I had all sorts of worries and personal concerns that melted away with the first mile and a half of uphill incline. Nothing like straining at your backpack straps and wondering whether you will keep breathing in a minute or if your boots are actually crushing your toes to jelly, to drive away worries about things like what you're doing for the rest of your life. And oddly, or perhaps not so oddly, I found that what I was doing for the next few days at least was beating a pretty hot pace over and across the Long Trail with my friends, and it didn't matter what appointments I had made, or what I might think my parents might not approve of, or what serious thing I needed to sort; worrying wasn't going to fix any of that anyhow. My problems didn't melt, but I packed them away when I packed my backpack, and I conveniently left them on the shelf at home, along with other things that were too heavy or too useless to take with me. I needed to travel light. Getting things done turned out to be the order of business, and the first step to finishing is, well, the first step. The dao has never been so sweaty, heart-racing, rocky, and rewarding. All around me, every step of the way all I had to do was stop, and look around at the cathedral of the forest canopy and the velvet moss carpet and the weird mushroom priests. Any moment of the trail contained the whole of the experience and I wasn't afraid I'd miss any of it, because it was all around me. I didn't hurry because I thought I'd be left out, instead I took my time. What fell into place was my perception. I absorbed the mountain-ness from the mountains. I asked where my roots were, why did I choose this place, these structures and people, what led me to the path I now walk? I looked long into my own memories. I looked long across the view, and into the daydream of the mountain. The lighthearted dream of summer, and a deeper sense of well-being and purpose, a way of being, a -ness that grows like mountains do, older all the time. I laughed and bantered along the trail. I settled, like the mountain settles, into an understanding of myself as I am, as I am forming. The seed of the mightiest mountain is a single grain of sand. And if I build it out of weekend hikes, hands of cards, bunches of flowers, a really great porch and shade with the summer sun through the leaves, instead of church suppers and hook-rugs and big, sweet dogs and sweeter maple toast, I still might live to ninety like Grandma Frances. The secret is just living one day at a time. I just added a pebble today. I'm in the business of mountain-building, so excuse me if I don't take some time off. If I ever stopped, how would this mountain get built? I have the most lovely sense of not wanting to step out of my self and miss a bit of my life as it goes by. I deserve it and I will savor it. If every day can be as satisfactory, as filled with endorphins and fellowship and silent, quiet spaces in the cool and the green, I shall feel fortunate indeed.