Past the gate you shouldn’t go through and up a secluded path that winds upward 100 meters I found the place where you give offering. Bones of past life and ripe citrus—what will I lay at the altar?
A village dog escorted me up the steps and watched me as I searched my bag for something appropriate to extend, but when you’re in an ancient place with its ancient people in your REI hiking gear, little seems reverent. We looked at each other. “I don’t know what to leave.” He cocked his head. He probably only spoke Quechua. I dug deeper into my camelback.
Your second favorite part of hiking is eating snacks along the way. I love that you love that; a sweet reward for focus and the act of rigorousness.
You’ll never know what this was like. You will never know my journey; I’ll never know yours. Even still, I wanted you there. I unwrapped a granola bar and placed it alongside the femurs and humeruses. It seemed like a place you’d want to be.
Village dog and I walked back down the steps—this time sadder, but a little lighter.