stormy

Between 13,383 and 14,229 feet above sea level what is there but 846 feet of disappointment?

I do not want to turn around. Even though it is the right thing. Probably. But when you are playing for luck you never know the other story. The clouds congregating early for a hallelujah holy-roller service surely coming, but we don’t know when. Or even if for sure. These things change. Uncertainty means we have to weigh the risk. We have to use our own judgment. We can’t know, only choose.

The high-country summer storm doesn’t care one way or the other. It will come, faster or slower, and hit here or there, that peak or this one, now or later. I look at the peak, so close really and we have come so far. I step up. My husband is reasonable when he asks me where I keep the life insurance information.

I know I am angry because I feel like crying. Because I want to go ahead anyway. I think I can scramble up and get back before anything bad happens. Before the rogue bolt finds earth. Because my friend is ahead and still moving and I can’t stand it thinking of her and her daughter there on the top without me. Their happy photos. Mad at myself because I can’t start earlier in the morning. Because now we will have to do this all over again. Because I like to finish what I start. Because I didn’t hike just a little faster. Because he is probably right and wants me to live. And like a guy I tell him that we don’t have to talk about everything for god’s sake. If we are going down, then let’s go on down to tree line and don’t look back. Let’s just f-ing go. Later, I convince myself I did the harder thing. I think.