Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Today’s trek, a slow, step-by-step ascent, bursts of sunlight through gray-black cumulus clouds, alpine wildflowers—white bistort, yellow cinquefoil, purple harebells—miniatures all, hugging the ground to avoid turbulent winds, distant peaks in a misty haze, a descent on a scree slope, and the long walk back to camp on a petulant ankle.
How much would I care not doing this again? How much of my imagined self is in the doing of it? Who would I be without that doing?
plain little bistort—
do you imagine yourself
a wild rose?
Perhaps an answer will come with this campfire dinner, a cup of rye whiskey and storytelling with my enthusiastic hiking companions.