I’ve written before about THE dream, which is more of a recurring location — no, a destination — that I’ve revisited throughout my adult life. Always, it’s to the northwest. Always, it’s at least a couple hours’ hike before I can get to my destination. I used to be able to start that hike, and once, once, I made it to the cave.
I’m using the word “destination” because for years, now, it’s been so bloody difficult to even get a look at that rocky landscape. The other night was no different. I was young, high school perhaps, and I had gone to the house of a girl I liked. There wasn’t much daylight left but she agreed to go out with me on a hike. We figured we could walk for as long as the sun stayed up, and then there would be enough twilight to make it back before nightfall. We’d go as far as we could, then return.
That’s what we did. But we had barely started the trail when she pointed out she hadn’t worn the right shoes, and the trail was not as compact as I had recalled, and could we please just leave?
I woke up wondering when I’d have the chance to return. And I wonder, as I always have, why this destination has such a fascination for me, and whether I’ll ever make it there before I die.