In the dew, beneath the canopy
When his feet began to burn and lungs began to ache, he'd find an pine with an adequately high canopy that he would crawl beneath. Then he would kneel below it as if in prayer, undoing his rucksack and drinking his water, then he'd sit. The hood of his poncho pulled over his head so as not to get sap in his hair. He'd sit and listen, inspecting the sounds of the woods, breathing slowly through his nose, not smiling and not thinking, and occasionally, sleep would come to him. He found it funny how it sneaks up on him. No one ever sees sleep coming until its done. In his daydreams, as he sat awake below the canopy, and in his sleep, he would revisit the college years. He would remember sitting in dim dormitories at midnight with people who, even now, he considered his closest friends; two parts drunk and speaking earnestly about love and fear and uncertainty, conversations he would never dream of broaching with his chums from grade school. He remembered the things that made...