When I finally turn towards the trunk to retrieve my pack and boots I notice an old man standing in front of a pick-up truck parked a couple hundred feet up the road on another small pad. He stands tall, with his hands in his pockets, big grey beard hanging from his wrinkled face.
He’s staring at me. Something I find unnerving, so I raise a hand and nod my head to him. A friendly greeting. Gesture of good nature. He doesn’t take notice though. Or doesn’t show it. Just keeps staring.
I decide to let it go and continue to the truck of my car. Tie on my boots. Strap on my pack. I close the tailgate and turn around.
Same posture. Same cold stare looking at me.
A boldness takes over and I find myself walking in his direction though the trailhead is in the opposite. I try to make my gait as casual as possible. Like I’ve been walking this dirt road for miles. Not a care in the world.
Before I know it I’m standing before him. His beard looks like it weighs a ton and his eyes feel like I’m peering over the edge of a cliff. I open my mouth to speak but can’t really think of a proper place for words.
Then a twig cracks as a woman emerges from the tree line with a medium sized mutt. As I turn my attention to her, I realize that he does the same, walking towards her with open arms, they join warmly with a long kiss as the dog barks at a playful chipmunk, and I wonder whether I truly exist at all.
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