Ease

This is the thing, he said, about ease.

Dusk was creeping in fast, the sun low at the end of the gorge.  Flashlight.  Unknown trail and no flashlight.  You would think I was new or something.  Call the dogs in and turn back for the hike up the hill.

He said, it is a little shy, a tad bit lazy, a lot not easy.

I want to keep going, to find out if this trail goes all the way down from the high above clear to the river way down below.  To see if that little side trail goes anywhere beyond where the windfall lays across it.  To find out, if this trail does go all the way to the down below, whether I can get back up to the high above.  Someone will probably come rescue me if not.  Or not, since I would start back up and how would they rescue me if I discovered halfway up I didn't want to do the rest?  We will come back and find out.  Earlier.  With a flashlight.  Idiot.

It cannot find you, he said, if you don't slow down.

Back through the spot where that just enough water runs over the path to make it muddy and sloggy and slick.  I got through on the way down by hitting those three small rocks.  Missed one.  Mud and wet feet are just mud and wet feet.  Not fatal. Tangled in a branch I could have tossed out of the way on the way down had I been paying attention, and stumbled into one dog.  The other got out of my way. Flashlight.

But ease will sit in your lap and purr if you will stop, he said.

I stood alone on the edge of the cliff and felt the wind watched the cars on the freeway the big beautiful river the night fall.

Just for a minute.