![]() ![]() ![]() That’s how I want to be when I’m old,” the first voice pronounced, then continued with a final jab after a pause: “Except I wouldn’t be wearing a bathing suit.” There had been some points where I would happily have followed a road if one had appeared (or better still, some secret tunnel with an escalator marked “geriatrics only”), but I wasn’t about to admit that. It was hard to stay silent at this, but again I said nothing. “Maybe there’s a flat road in here somewhere.” Should I call out? “I can hear you?” Or, “I’m not that old!” I remained silent, a gray haired woman in a teal blue swimsuit, curious to hear what I might hear about myself next.Ī second voice said, “How did she get here?” The voice was clear as a bell in the mountain air. I looked to see who belonged to the voice and to check in case there was someone on the trail behind me, someone frail, leaning on hiking poles, wearing a Tilly hat. My husband had gone back along the trail to see if there were better entry points, but I’d forged on, avoiding what looked to be a rusted piece of metal, several tree branches. ![]() ![]() I’d been promising myself that swim all morning. I was standing hip deep in an icy mountain lake, two thousand feet up from the road where my husband and I had begun two hours earlier. “Look! A geriatric!” The voice sang out from somewhere behind me in the woods. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |