Amy Upchurch

Life-Advice from an 18-Year-Old

The moisture clings to my clothes, dragging the baby hairs from my bun and into my eyes. An unbearable heat buoys lazy flies around my face – their perpetual buzzing like the white-noise of the forest. My back aches; ankles buckling under the weight of the pack that is glued to my back by the copious amount of sweat I’ve accumulated under the trees. A vine twists around my boot, the worn sole covered in decaying leaves. I trip, reaching for the closest tree but instead breaking through foliage, stumbling out into the most beautiful scene. A ravine. An open beauty made of rock and leaf – red and green – completely devoid of human life. A deep rumbling comes from below – underscoring the annoying buzz of insects – the refreshing sound of crystal water, an unstoppable current carrying life. I take it all in, in awe, and fall inwards...