If I could do anything today it would be to go on a nice long hike in the Adirondacks. Kidnap him from his demanding weekend and embark on a climber, With views to reward the effort, and plenty of ledge to scrabble over. The scent of the waning summer and the clear morning light at the trail head as I carefully search the ground cover for a suitable walking stick. Some good solid shoes, woolen socks, rugged stained shorts and a flannel shirt with torn off sleeves…crumpled Dad Hat. No sunglasses, A bandanna around my neck and a cool backpack stuffed with the trail map, some binoculars, a rain cover, toilet paper, bug juice and a good book. A HUGE bag of trail mix and some oranges,,,and of course water.
No rush, no hurry. a trail i hiked fifty years ago and still recall. Saying nothing much at all. An eye out later in the day for a suitable outcropping on which to splay and take in the vista as the sun soaks into our bodies. Letting the mountain own me, even if only for a day. No lawn mowers, no traffic noise, no cell service. Hawks. Turkey buzzards, Chipmunks.
Passing others (or being passed) on the trail, grins exchanged, the secrecy of our revelry safe from the poor suckers who are at the mall, or the golf course, or the gym. This is living. And as the daylight bends toward dusk, rambling down the last few miles back to the parked car, in the deeper shade of the woods, the pools of light and shadow intermingle with that unmistakable aroma of detritus on the forest floor harkening the rushing in of autumn.