It is a beautiful, crystalline Saturday morning, early, 8:00 a.m. I pull on my lilac-colored capri pants, the ones with the pocket for my phone so I can listen to my music. I put on my spongy, perfect black socks and the running shoes I love so much, cushioned from every sidewalk crack by a substance like clouds.

And then I’m out the door.

I have never been a wilderness person, preferring to hike through urban shopping districts, explore museums and cathedrals, and slide into cafes for an espresso respite. There is no call-of-the-wild in me. But, at sixty-years of age, I craved nature’s inspiration. I wanted to see ancient beauty that would exist long after my expiration date.