WOMEN WALKING; DEEP LISTENING
WOMEN WALKING One fine October day this month, I merged onto the highway in anticipation of the hours ahead: a hike in a conservation area an hour north with three other women. A few years older than me, they had been the close circle of my sister who died seventeen years ago. “I’m here,” I texted after pulling into the parking lot, “and heading to the bathroom”, which the gatekeeper said had just been cleaned. Clean bathrooms on a hike should never ever be passed up, especially if you’re over sixty and have had a morning coffee (or two). They arrived as I exited the bathroom and hugs all round ensued, our usual way of greeting when we saw each other every few months. The trail with looming trees just beginning to turn gold, orange, and red beckoned as we hoisted our day-packs (filled with healthy but tasty snacks) and set off. The path was an eight-kilometer loop around the lake and as we stopped at the initial fork, the mandatory discussion sparked about which way we shou...
