I found a place, with some help, at the end of the 25. There was the sun lulling a fake warmth on top of those hills. Proud little community with their trails and woodsy paths and abandoned Tb facilities. Somewhere, my shadow appeared and it was bending like a breezy tree. Must be the effect of the thinner air. Whatever it is, my fingers became branches and there was my little-girl-self wanting to play. Odd to see her again at age 37. Hardly recognized her. But the impulse is the same. Joyful knowledge of the still and the moving. Putting time away for awhile.