When I looked at the bug it looked back at me, hovering. So I just walked away. It was a weird, flying, bug. It really was looking at me.
I’ve run this peak so many times now. It reminds me of the field. The one behind my house where I explored as a kid. Sometimes barefoot. Sometimes not. Into its grass that grew above my head. Down to its stream with the frogs and tadpoles. The playground. It never got old, just familiar. Then one day we moved. And it was gone.
We all have our needs. Sometimes we don’t recognize or understand them.
So I just climbed. For two and half-hours. Into the dense Manzanita plants and overgrown fig trees. I glanced at the towers above me, wondering if I should turn around or resolve to sit among them. I couldn’t decide, so I just kept moving.
Then it occurred to me. I understood.