Cold. Sitting beside an unnamed creek on the Grail Falls Track, Walls of Jerusalem NP. Moss on everything. Sun shines weakly through the myrtle and sassafras tops. Can hear a single bird above the flow of water. A single sporadic whistle.
I’ve fallen in mud and walked through a creek, hiked past last night’s snow which sticks unmelting on the lids of the brown fungi. Today’s walk sees my mind pulled in many directions. It’s been difficult to be present. Some days are like that.
• • •
On my way back down I slip on a steep section of track and bend my fingers back as my left hand breaks my fall. It’s enough to bring me back to my feet, and their connection with the ground.