Flying Wild

Dropping off the coattails of the jet overhead, the trailing lines streak the blueness. The only color in the blank sky, broken again by wind-swept leaves. The sounds of nature blossomed as night fell, making the blue black again once more.

The blue was my favorite, some said it matched my eyes on sunny days; even when it turned gray the blue of my eyes changed a bit too.

It had been a while since I’d walked this far. The bag on my back had started to dig deep into my shoulders, the muscles already sore. My legs well past the soreness stage straight to numbing, not helped by the growing chill in the night air.

I breathed deep, the coolness touching the far reaches of my lungs, as only free air can taste.

These barely tested boots on my feet still felt stiff and my toes ached for release. Breathing and concentration kept each foot moving, one in front of the other. I’d reach my destination even if it was without the sun to guide me. The trees grew thicker as I walked. A squirrel rushed overhead, leaping home before darkness swept full overhead. I flipped on my light, securing it to my head. The hoarse screech of a barn owl called from my right, but I could only hear it as it rustled and flew away. The nighttime symphony began after that. Crickets and other creatures adding their notes to the dark canvas. I certainly did not feel alone in the growing black. Heading north still I knew my camp had to be close. Without the sun I did worry about the chill and looked forward to the fire that awaited me. Breathe and breathe, step and step.

I skirted a low hanging branch, adjusting my bag with a jump on my tiptoes. I pulled the strap tighter. The clerk who sold me the bag had tried to keep the surprise clear of their face when I told them why I needed it. I didn’t want the judgement but didn’t feel the need to lie. I wanted to leave and be alone. I found my wilderness and wanted to be a part of nature if only for a week. Alone with my pen and page, with the old camera that only took sepia-colored photos now. Tacking on a single person tent sealed the deal on the type of ‘roughing it’ I’d signed myself up for. I had wanted heavy pine scents and bright wild flora too. Apparently, that had only been a short plane ride away from home.

After years of schooling followed by the day-in and day-out of a steady job this felt like a much-needed reprieve. I packed my coffee, alongside the best portable camping coffee-maker I could find in that outdoors store. Then I had packed fewer clothes to make room for the books I couldn’t leave behind. What more did I need?

I came up to the stream; the ranger had said the camp would only be half a mile now. I turned and stepped along the bank, relief growing as my time grew shorter until I would see the site. Mud now clung to my boots, the pines sticking out between. The moon was rising, glowing bright as it began its ascent. The stream was shining and twinkling as it tripped over the stones and branches. I felt new energy with the lightness around me. I slipped in the mud, avoiding a fallen tree. Righting myself I merely wiped the dirt on my pant leg.

I was tired. I always feel more emotional when I’m tired. Even though I was happy to be so close to my campsite, the tears at my eyes came sudden and hot. My body and mind were ready for a break and the strain of trying to reach that place of relief was just giving me an excuse to let some of them fall down my cheeks before I swiped at them. This night air would soon cool my burning eyes. I steadied my breath and kept walking.

I finally saw the signpost for my lot. Yellow painted words reflected the moons’ brightness and my light’s beam as I approached it. I came into my little clearing, sliding my pack off my shoulders. I dropped the bag and explored the perimeter of my space. I pulled my flannel closer around my shoulders and let out a slow breath. I closed my eyes and listened to the clear and bright sounds of this wilderness. I needed to unpack and set up camp. The ranger had told me how to build the fire pit. But that could wait.

I felt my feet sink deeper in the soil. The symphony of the wild night was building slowly as the moon made its journey to the top of the night sky. I pulled out my pages and crouched to touch my pen to them. I looked up and saw the moonlight bounce of white wings between the trees. I smiled and wrote my first words.