All the liquid greens
It’s a twenty-five minute walk from the cottage, where we’re staying, to Barton Camp where the event is actually taking place. On the first morning the sun was shining and I decided to skip the car ride, take in the sights and smells and sounds; I’ve been doing it ever since, back and forth, sometimes three or four times a day. I love this—my watch is happy, my rings fill up and my mind reels from a numbing sense of calm. When I see a car up ahead I slowly jump to the sides of the narrow road, and everyone waves as they pass by. I wave back, smiling.
There is an odd state of grace to becoming a stranger, lost from everyone you know. It’s a mix of uncertainty, thrill and sorrow.
Like freedom, tied to a gently tugging string.