2017

The breeze turned into wind and the sky darkened overhead. It was inviting and warm, tossing my flyaways and the leaves with the force of a cat rubbing their scent into your arm. Storms were always comforting.

Past the boulder field, the rooted section next to the stream and into the trees where I once became panicked at having lost him and the trail. He laughed, hugged me close. Most people have never seen me afraid.

The lake stood, emerald and shallow, reflecting the scene of the peaked bowl that held it. I had been in awe the first time. Today, it felt like old news, and old memories.

I walked on, past the spot we had laid in the grass, staring up at the ridgeline. My curiosity drove me up the boulders and protected me from the warmth of the past. I was going to see what was on the other side.

A bit above my skill level. Maybe I’m being dumb. A boulder tumbles past my head. A careless marmot watched me from several boulders up. That’s enough for me.

I don’t know why I was afraid. Maybe because I was on my own.

The best way down was up. I crawled over the edge of the ridge, relieved, only to be stared down by a dirt packed trail. Huh? I took to it and ran uphill. There was the wind again.

I stood, looking out at the backside of Lake Peak. Cowles. A town — an unexpected sight.

Open space. Black, black clouds, rolling fast. I stared in awe — content, accomplished, alone.

The fear struck me. Quick and short, but my legs moved. I ran, re-invigorated, down the dirt packed trail towards home — towards the new-found joy of dining out alone.

Tell me, do you remember the first moment you felt the ‘fear of’ turn into the ‘joy of’ traveling alone?