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Comings And Goings
On any trail, there is always someone ahead or behind. I thought about this as we hiked in Point Lobos State Reserve, outside Carmel, California. As we followed the North Shore Trail, we would occasionally encounter other hikers. Some came up from behind us, while others came to meet us.
The day was perfect. The sun was out, undeterred by the banks of fog drifting over us. The fog vanished quickly into the rocks and foliage. Already we had come face to face with two deer. They stood on a large boulder and watched us with as much curiosity as we did them. There wasn't any trace of fear in their dark, moist eyes. We soon saw a couple walking toward us. It was a woman and a young man that we learned was her son. Friendly, they stopped to talk. My wife and I stood bunched together with them on the narrow trail, on the lookout for poison oak on either side. The woman was out of breath. She quickly announced that she had emphysema, but was surprised that she could walk so well on the park trails. Better than walking in the city, she declared. No exhaust here, I said. She nodded in agreement, than patted her shirt pocket. I have my trusty inhaler if I need it, she told us. We went our separate ways. My wife and I chose to follow the Sea Lion Point Trail. Through the trees, the barks of seals seemed to float on the air. But before we reached the place where we might see the seals, suddenly a woman came up from behind us. I’m truly lost, she said, but there was a smile on her face. I think we understood. If one could choose a place to be lost, this might as well be it. After comparing maps for a few minutes, the woman took off in the opposite direction. Watching her disappear into the landscape of flowers and trees and rocks, I wondered how it would be to walk these trails alone. I mean, there is the peace of solitude, and then there is the loneliness. Given her smile, my guess is that she was enjoying the peace. Who knows what she had encountered in the months and years leading to this trail, over highways and relationships. An hour or so later, we found ourselves on Moss Cove Trail. Many times before, we had come to this same spot. There was a kind of serenity, even sacredness about this place. We stayed a good while looking out over Moss Cove. I could stay here forever, my wife said. Maybe, when the time came, we could scatter our ashes here. Or, perhaps a young relative could bring us both here. Who could know when? But it would be a way of staying.
Walking away from Moss Cove was like leaving a shrine or a very special ceremony. We walked with a new kind of exhilaration. We did not want to leave, but for now, it was time to go. Later, maybe later. As we walked back on Granite Point Trail, I could see a couple coming our way. They wore backpacks with easels strapped across them. I was not surprised when we all paused in our tracks. Is there anything to paint over there, the man asked? He was pointing over our shoulders in the direction of Moss Cove. His wife looked at us expectantly. You’ll find a lot to paint, my wife said. Well, the man told us, I do landscapes, but my wife is looking for a house to paint. Then she won’t be disappointed, I said. I explained that, while the husband painted the land and water, his wife could paint the Carmelite Monastery, easily seen from Moss Cove. Seeming pleased, they walked on. And we walked away. But we hoped we would be back, for a short visit, or for always. On any trail, there is always someone ahead or behind. Perhaps some trails just go on and on. It all depends on memory and time.
Christopher Woods is the author of a novel, THE DREAM PATCH. His prose collection, UNDER A RIVERBED SKY, was published by PANTHER CREEK PRESS
panthercreekpress.com. His collection of stage monologues, HEART SPEAK, was published recently
by STONE RIVER PRESS stoneriverpress.com.
Email: Christopher Woods
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