This time, one year ago, I was biking through Golden Gate Park at 2am, when everything is still. I'm riding home from Karyn's place. My heart aches a little, and I'm smiling on the inside. The lighting from the street lamps makes everything look flat, almost black and white. The air is cool and I feel prickly as I start to sweat. I stand on my cranks and pedal hard to get a running start at the last bit of hill. I have to wake up at 7am for work tomorrow.
This time, two years ago, I was eating a pile of breaded, deep-fried something with a scoop of mac salad on the side. The diversity of Honolulu makes me feel at ease. I like that people wear Hawaiian shirts without any irony. After having malasadas for breakfast, I feel a bit disgusted with myself.
This time, three years ago, I was having tea. The teahouse is tucked into the mountains above Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies. Everybody's a tourist and the squirrels sneak off with bits of scone when no one is looking.
This time, four years ago, I was looking at the stars. I'm shivering in the cold at 12,000 feet, but that doesn't matter because I can see the Milky Way. Everywhere it is dark except for the light of distant stars. Laying down on my bed of granite, I feel like I am made of stone. My legs are stiff from hiking, and I'm too excited/uncomfortable to fall asleep. I will wake up at dawn tomorrow and hike to the top of Mount Whitney.
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