"Epiphany"
1,461 words. Approximate reading time: 7 minutes, 18 seconds.
I wrote this for LJ Idol: Minor+, which is going on over on Dreamwidth. There's no polls, no voting, no eliminations, just a weekly prompt and writing, so it's never too late to join in if you're interested.
I awoke before the sun that Saturday morning, and waited impatiently for it to begin to rise so I could begin the trek that I had been planning on since the middle of the week. In a previous life, I may have sat on the porch drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette at five o’clock in the morning and feeling sorry for myself. That morning, it was just the cigarette, still a bad habit and a vice, to be sure, but at least it was somewhat more socially acceptable.
The dogs, fed and happy, wrestled with each other in the backyard while I looked on, looking for signs of too-rough play, ready to shout at them to separate if things got serious. I finished my cigarette, lit another, and rolled my head from side to side, stretching out my aching neck muscles, trying to release the tension of the week.
As soon as I saw the first beams of light begin to color the inky sky, fading it from black to dark blue, I went inside and gathered up my supplies. I loaded my pack with more snacks and water than I knew I would need, because it never hurts to be prepared, and set it on the floor next to my chair, where I pulled on my hiking socks and boots and laced them tightly. My toes protested slightly, as they always did when I put on my boots, angry that they could not spread out as much as normal. I shook off the uncomfortable feeling, and massaged my neck before grabbing my pack and heading out to the car.
The sun crept its way over the horizon and watched over me lazily as I drove east toward it, and my eventual destination. When I pulled into the parking lot at the trailhead, I was relieved, though not surprised, to find no other cars there ahead of me. It had been a particularly rough week, and knowing that the chances of coming across another human being on the trail were slim put me at ease. I was here for solitude and peace, and, while the trail was long and had many different paths, it was also popular for hikers that lived in the area, so it was rare that I didn’t come across someone else while hiking, regardless of the paths I took or didn’t.
I exited my car and breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of the dew on the grass and the slight chill of morning, neither of which had been wicked away by the sun just yet, before diving headfirst into the forest in front of me. The trail welcomed me like an old friend, and I it, as I stepped deftly over and under familiar roots and branches on my way to the first fork, the first decision I would need to make on my path to guidance.
Going right would lead me along the river to the great wooden bridge that crossed it, or further to the mud pits that were once part of the trail, before they had been washed away by the rains, where I had once traveled through waist-deep water trying to find my way to drier ground. Going left would lead me deeper into the woods, to walk beside the equestrians for a mile or so before our paths drifted apart again. I had taken both roads before, at one point or another, and both roads eventually led to the same place and back again, so I made the decision to go to the left, having decided that the path I chose really made no difference. I felt the tension leaving my neck a bit as I made my way toward the horse trails, hoping to still find nobody.
The miles passed-thankfully-uneventfully and quietly, and I soon found myself at another fork in the trail, and another choice to make, another method of finding destiny. Going left would mean walking along a connector to another trail and would put me in a completely different parking area than the one that my car was in, so that option was really not one. Going straight would take me through deep woods and to the highway, where I had walked before along the paved bridge over the river to the fishing spot and the trail entrance on the other side, praying that I wouldn’t become the victim of someone’s momentary lack of attention to the road. Going right would take me down to the river and the great wooden bridge, which would in turn take me back to the parking lot, and back to my home.
I sat for a while on the covered bench in the clearing that marked the fork, mulling over my decision. The sun was hovering much higher in the sky now than it had been when I first entered the cover of the canopy, and the air was beginning to heat up quite a bit. I pulled a Lärabar from my pack, unwrapped it, and pretended it tasted anything like the flavor listed on the wrapper. I took a few sips of water and stretched out my aching shoulders, releasing the tension that seemed to have traveled to them from my neck by way of heavy hiking pack.
I had gotten the solitude that I was looking for, I reasoned, though perhaps not the epiphany that I had come to expect from solo hiking trips. But maybe epiphanies were reserved for the times when I really needed them and weren’t something to be sought after directly, so I made the decision to make my way toward the great wooden bridge, watch the river for a few moments, and head back home with the knowledge that at least I had gotten some time to think and some fresh air.
I made my way along the wide, straight trail, with the trees on either side reaching out to each other and clasping branches like old friends. Their leaves glowed brightly as they accepted the sun’s rays on my behalf, letting only a few bright shafts break through and onto the ground, leaving me dazzled. A half mile felt like only a few steps as I lost myself in the storybook feel of it all. I was surprised to find myself nearing the bridge so quickly, and shook myself free from the wonder of the path I walked. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a path that I hadn’t seen before, despite the numerous times I had walked this loop.
The recent months had seen little rain, and this area that was usually flooded over was now dry. The ground changed from dirt to sand, and the sand seemed to form a path that was maybe not technically a mapped trail, but was a trail nonetheless. Intrigued, I turned away from the wooden bridge that would lead me back home and walked into the pristine sand, my boots sinking down softly and leaving behind evidence of my excursion for other hikers to see.
I walked along the path, feeling the tension dissipate from all of my muscles as excitement and anticipation took over my body, recalling earlier days when the trails were much less familiar and comfortable. I traveled for some time, seeing nothing but more trees, sisters and brothers of those I had already known before, when suddenly there was a break. The trees disappeared and the ground spread wide before me into a large, grassy clearing.
To my left was a small pond, home to several newly-born islands, left uncovered by the lack of rain, their once-muddy shells baked dry by the sun. To my right was a small grass-covered hill with a single old oak tree bursting from the top of it. Though it had seen better days, the old tree was still a sight to behold, and I wondered how many years it had been here alive at the edge of the pond, watching the water rise and fall over time, and how many years it had been dead, but still keeping watch.
The oak tree’s bare branches held dozens of large birds that I recognized as turkey vultures, and my eyes followed the lines of the tree to the base, where I noticed several other vultures on the ground, picking over the bones of a medium-sized animal to find any rotten meat that their brethren had left behind. The vultures on the ground hissed and grunted as they ate, while the vultures in the tree branches stood watch stoically and waited for the right time to go off in search of more food.
I dropped my pack to the ground and sat at the edge of the clearing, watching the vultures feast and the mud islands bake in the sun, waiting for my epiphany to come.