Yesterday my boots clapped against concrete; today my shoes crunched on pine needles and slip in fresh mud. Both are a necessity but only the latter allows me to hear my lonely breath. In there my knees ache; out here only my empty hand aches. Right now the mist clouds a distant volcano, but the emerald water and sheared stumps bear silent witness to the smokey impulses that happen here. Everywhere there is new earth and flowers and creeks; a dangerous but necessary hope that wafts from the incomplete peak. I feel the same when I look at you; danger amongst the flowers. Again I look and I see a future too, here by the deer bones, there by the beaver tracks. We could find it together, amongst the blasted tree trunks and brand new lakes. I slip. My breath mingles with the fog that hides the mountain.