A few days into my journey, still kicking against nature,I swung at what turned out to be poison oak.
I cursed my carelessness andmy anticipated discomfort and pain.
Truly all creation is against me, I murmured.
Later that day, I tripped in a bone-dry creek bed,smashing my knee against a rock.I remember grimacing in pain toward an empty sky.
As I lay there, I recalled words my father had spoken to mewhile on a hunt: “WE who lose our footing have lost ourway,” he had said. “Our walking is in darkness.”