A Long Walk in a Wet Wood

I took a long walk in a wet wood. 

A taxi carried us to a high mountain and a view under close clouds.

We are friends, old and new.

We asked three people how to start.

Then we started.

We saw the hawthorne and the rowan.

We walked along a wall and found our way over small streams. We hopped rocks. 

A hard wind blew my hat off, and I put on the new wooly one, a gift from a friend, with triple spirals.

The map said "a long hike, all downhill."

We found an ancient road, too rough to walk, so we made our own path.

We met a wall and found a style. 

We passed through the kissing gates.

I kept my gravity low.

We passed under high hedges, lost the signal, and trusted the map.

We passed the King's Grave. 

On the dry slanting stones along the river, we stopped for lunch, and told stories. 

We knew the rain would start, and it did.

"There is no bad weather, only bad clothing." 

I wore my two-year-old raincoat today. For the first time. 

We thought we were on the map, but we were wrong. 

Is this the first crossing or the second? 

We walk, we talk, we enjoy this precious moment. 

We found other people's follies. 

We lost the trail. We find the toilets.

We don't know how to make progress. 

It rains, but we are dry under these layers. I have a good hat.

We wondered if the map was upside down.

I did not know where to go, so I only asked for an explanation of why we chose this way. I did not understand, but trusted they were right.

Maybe the way out of this forest is the longer way. 

We found ourselves on the map again.

Suddenly, the map is not the territory.

We discuss. We enumerate options and choose.

We meet a woman on a horse.
Where did you come from?
I'm from here.
We laugh. Yes, not that.
Did you ride in from outside this wood?

Two paths home. The map says take the high road.

We took the low road, and at a dangerous junction at a narrow bridge, only dangerous roads will take us home.

My friend says backtrack to go where we need be.

We reject the narrow way and take a longer one.

We saw the way out. We found the boreen we need. 

We have been walking for five hours. We sat on a bench near the rapid river. 

We sat in the rain.

We talk and laugh.

We ease our spines.

It rains wetter. I am dry under these layers. This hat is holding.

A new map appears on our phones but we use the one that brought us here.

We arrive in town.

We walk the final promenade.

We are home.
All is well.
At the beginning the walk seemed far, but it is just walking and at the end, there you are.

As I remembered that hike, I realized the day was a metaphor for the coming year.

In June I learned I have a small bit of cancer in my breast. I will be ok, eventually, but it will be a long walk in a wet wood. It will be uncomfortable and dark. I have a guide and maps, but once on the trail, the map may not apply to the reality of paths before me. At each stop, I will need to assess and iterate through the next path ahead. There will be times when I can rest and enjoy friends in an idyllic place. There will be times when I'm so tired I just need to let someone else decide where to go. They will tell me where we are and what we are doing, but I won't understand it. The path will be long and uncomfortable and we will laugh from time to time. I will wear new hats.