Finding Fortuna, or learning life lessons on a hike

We start out early, already

at 6:18 we strip off

sweatshirts, my eyeglasses

slip off my sweaty nose

and find ourselves in a slow

saunter on the sweet trail from  

the Visitor’s Center, under

shade, past a creek and

trees old and fragile with

too many young couples’

initials carved into them

Memories engraved. Mine

less visible, equally

invasive

We trod on. And agree on

two hours, I don’t tell her  

I am thinking less, much

less, I am fragile today,

waking with a shaking

nightmare and weighing

safe and a question heavy

on my heart—when is playing

safe sucking prana, chi

life force, when is safe

the highest form of self

love

I wait for an answer

but all I have are sounds

of my feet on rocks, the

rustle of lizards in the

bush, a pack of coyotes up

over the ridge. And my

breath. My breath that says

stay

I suppose it’s summer now,

no color, I say, though truth

be told, I love the dry, the

variegated versions of brown.

Earthy, not dead. She finds a yellow

weed, a baby version of a

daisy, says, see, even here

we can find color.

We reach a fork and she

says she needs to turn

back, her eighty-year-old

knee needs a break

but we’re close to South

Fortuna, she says, an

expert hiker who has

hiked these trails for

years, knows them by

heart

Is it difficult? I ask, still

finding my footing, still

afraid of heights, and

pain, and being alone

on untrodden trails

you can always turn back,

she promises

I believe her and

continue, up and up

steps, then rocks

then I’m nearly there

climbing boulders,

dirty head to toe, too

tired even to realize

where I am till I reach

the summit and look

down

I am at the top and

my head spins from

the height

There is another way

down, sweetheart

she says from down

in the canyon

and because of the

wonders of technology

she leads me, my pilot

in the back of the

fighter jet

navigating, toward

North Fortuna, down

Widow Maker, under

power lines and I’m

sure I’m lost at one

point, nearly three

hours in, no sounds

no human, sketchy

service, and I tell

my mom through

tears I’m giving

up on nature and

humanity when I hear

five college guys

laughing walking

toward me

and I cry, humans!

and they laugh,

point the way and

I keep going, more

up, more down,

down down slippery

down with crampy

legs from trying

not to slide on

loose gravel when

I decide to run

I don’t know why

but running seems less

scary, so I run and

run and run all the

way down

into the arms of my

mama

who embraces me

and we walked

slow

you can go faster

if you want, she

offers

and I say no, let’s

share the end together

and she points to the

ridge I walked,

the tall tall mountain

I climbed, the canyon

I descended into and

out of

and I breathe a deep

deep exhale and

remember something

my yoga teacher says

we adopt the posture

to fit the breath

how could she

know these words

would shape my

day, give me roots,

give me wings