On Missing Things

I’m having one of those “I’m really missing the AT” kind of days. It’s a reoccurring trend, but today I feel like I need to write about it.

I was browsing some photos earlier and was reminded of the beginning days of my hike; the cold and snow, waking up to frozen shoes, the deadened brown flora, the layer of chub on my waist, the smiles, the miles, the junk food and the routine. Pictures of shelters flooded my memory of crowded, communal living on frigid nights in the Smokey’s. Snapshots of so many faces flashed through my brain; the hundreds, or probably thousands of faces, I met. These wise words from a third grader that I’ll never forget: “You can hike this trail!” I remember when watching a movie was a novelty, and that’s a severe understatement. Playing UNO as dusk settled in, on top of Tray Mountain. I miss my tent, my sleeping bag, and the hard ground I called my bed. I’d give anything to snap my fingers and rewind the time, if for just one day.

Life was, good.