Mason

There were a few cars in the lot, but not many.

We signed the register, shouldered our packs, and started into the trees.

The forest swallowed sound the way it always does.

Everything was muted, footsteps and breath in the occasional bird call that felt too sharp because everything else was soft.

We hiked steady and talked a lot at first, the way you do when you're still in that bright mood.

Then the grade changed, and our talking turned into shorter bursts.

The trail ran along a creek for a while, then climbed away from it, and we settled into the pattern.

Walk, check the map at junctions, drink water, keep moving.

Late in the afternoon, when the light was already draining out of the trees, we reached our first camp.

It was one of those designated sites that isn't really a campground, just a flat space with a ring of rocks and a log for sitting.

There were old fire scars on the stones.

The ground was packed down.

Whoever had last stayed there had been tidy.

No trash, no obvious mess.

I remember noticing that because it made the place feel normal.

It made it feel like other people had been here and left, and the world had continued as usual.

We made dinner, hung our food, and crawled into our tents.

It rained lightly through the night, just enough to make everything smell greener in the morning.

We woke up stiff, but fine.

We ate, packed, and started walking again.