text: Once more he set on the trail. The smell of pine and the brown tint of the forest were as familiar as they had ever been. Through all of the seasons of life, that had never changed. The warmth of the summer day danced with the gentle breeze that could be heard before it could be felt. He had been on this trail many times on many different days. Days where the winter stripped what green the trail had to offer, and where the night brought on the full bitterness of winter. Days where the sun deceived one in the morning, hiding the storm that was to come. Days where the arrival of spring, lit up the forest in song and color. Throughout all of these days, the trail remained the same. It was not a complicated trail by any means; however, it was an unconventional one. Whereas many trails sought the path of least resistance, this trail sought to make the simple, difficult. Instead of climbing once to the ridgeline and plateauing as long as it could, this trail went up, only to return down. Over and over again, the trail followed this pattern, exhausting the ones who sought to conquer it. The trail cut through many different scenes of life. Travelers would find themselves in the old familiar pine forest, and then turn a corner to feel the thick heat of a swamp. Only to travel up a hill and be caught up in tropical scrub. New travelers would look unknowingly at a map and believe they know knew the trail, but to know the trail, one would need to be on it. The man knew this trail though, and he knew it well. As he crossed through the pines, admiring the small, dirt cliffs and the tall, lanky trees, he thought back to a different time, the first time he conquered the trail. He was just a boy, unaccustomed to the outdoors, and unaware of what pain a trail can bring. He went with friends, and because of this, the trail was nothing more than competition on who could prove themselves to be the strongest. This competitive drive brought nothing to pain for the losers and indifference to the strongest. As the boy climbed the hill, and the saw palms cut his legs, the allure of being the strongest was lost. The boy trudged on because of the competition, but there was no meaning in it. Because the boy did not believe that the trail had meaning, he could gain nothing from it. The bright white of the dogwood flowers and beauty in the song sung by the wind and the birds were nothing, but a background to pain for the boy. His inexperience in life stole the moment from him, but a memory was made. The years went by, and the memory of the trail slowly cut out the pain and left a faint impression of the song of that day. The humble beauty of that song would lead him back to the trail. As the man continued on the trail, he stopped at a creek to rest. The creek was surrounded by rock and moss, creating a dark palette for the water to flow through. As he watched that eternal creek flow, he thought back to the second time that he visited the trail. It was when he was in his youth, not quite a man, but not quite a boy. This time he was once more surrounded by friends, but they did not drive each other through the trail through competition. This time they went through the trail in fellowship. He was full of youth and love, and this allowed him to witness the beauty of the trail for the first time. There was no pain then. Every hill was taken on slowly so that he could witness the life that is offered to its travelers. Every song was listened to, and every turn brought continuous wonder. The thick scrub that the trail would present to its travelers was not a hindrance anymore. Instead, he was in awe of it and the strength that the forest contained. The night was not full of pain, it was lit up by fire, whiskey, and laughter. The morning did not bring dread, it brought excitement to begin once more. The man thought back to that time on the trail, and he thought of how romantic he once believed that life was. He continued on the trail, leaving the sound of the stream behind. He went up a familiar hill, ignoring the cuts of the saw palms, ignoring the trees, the birds, the world around him, because he knew what the top of the hill offered. As he trudged on, he thought back to the last time he was on the trail. That time, he was fully a man and this had changed the meaning of the trail. He carried more than his pack that time. That time he carried the loss of love and life with him. The birds' songs were perhaps more beautiful this time, but they sang a sadder song, one that must come to an end. The blossoming flowers sprouted from fallen trees. The fire at night was there to light the forest but also to warm the man. The whiskey was there to laugh in friendship, but also to forget. The joy of the trail was not lost, but this time the man knew that there cannot be joy without suffering. The man finally came to the top of the hill, and at the top, he fully returned to the moment. He felt the warmth of the sun come down in large beams from the narrow shade of the pines. He felt the breeze bring calmness to the stirring forest. The man heard the sparrows sing life, and the fallen tree gave the man rest. From the first time to the last time on the trail, this place brought nothing but peace. The sufferings of the outside world could not reach there. There was nothing else, but this moment and there was no place, but this place. He sat there for as long as he could, as time passed without his notice. Slowly, the sun began to lower, and the end of the trail was near. Once more he set on the trail. The smell of pine and the brown tint of the forest were as familiar as they had ever been.