Late-August hiking in a Pennsylvania mountain forest, sweat tingles in my eyes, damp jeans stick to my legs. One daughter complains of exhaustion, the other of thirst; they fall to arguing. Mercifully, they lag behind, distance silencing the sound of their squabble. The crush of fallen leaves scents the air; buzzing cicadas presage fall. Enjoying rare solitude, I breathe, feeling invisible under the leafy ceiling. A flash and clap break my reverie. One daughter, then the other, finds me. Cold pellets pummel us, sweat turns to chill, and my daughters’ bickering turns to laughter that trails us to the car.
When she’s not getting lost in forests, Jan Lynch can be found drinking black coffee and reading in cafes, libraries, and random bookstores.