Out in the Wilderness

I was thirteen or fourteen and it was not my first time out. I was backpacking, one of a parade of young teenagers following counselors barely older than ourselves. It was ten days or so at summer’s end in the high country of Colorado. We carried our gear on our backs through the woods, arriving each afternoon somewhere new and beautiful. I remember sleeping under velvet skies, all of us laid together like timber. These were splendid, uncomplicated days. We relished in the remoteness and heard each other’s stories, but the particulars, by now, are faraway and indistinct.

What I do remember well is the last night, when I unburdened myself. All that time in the wilderness and I hadn’t been quite forthright. I had one final night to clarify; I would not leave with regrets. So I found a secluded spot in midafternoon sun, a place by a creek away from camp. I had a notebook and pencil