View From Foley Mountain

My feet are practising their steps, gauging the slipperiness of wet lichen on rock and sounding each landing. As my stride shifts to a swing I realize I have a sharper sense of my place in the woods now. I am as taut and limber as a bow-string. I sense bears in the woods, weigh their threat and move on, glorying in the mosses beneath my feet .... We in the woods share fear. By grace of my fear, I ...