Thursday, September 12, 2013


     When you hike up into a cloud, as my friend and I did last weekend in the Catskills, it's misty—rainy even. Dry rocks become treacherous Slip 'N Slides beneath your feet. The fog is at once eerie and comforting. The woods become quiet and contemplative. Birds don't make a sound.

     Having watched too many civil war movies as a child, I could not help imagining smokey muskets and men rising from the ground around every corner (something I regularly visualize in the woods). My friend and I encountered not one musket or clandestine man, not even a bear. But there was a precipice and a dangling bear bag, a nice looking bed of pine needles that I contemplated lying on, good conversation, and the promise to return and next time climb even higher into the clouds.