Cascade

I put my running shoes on, headed to the edge of the reservoir, where a dusty trail winds along the hillside until forever. But at the last turn I veered, made my way up the trail that is closed in winter, the steep snaking trail that goes straight up the mountain and into the valley beyond. I parked the car in nowhereland, met not another car, another person, only the occasional chipmunk or hawk. It's so quiet out here you can hear your mind scream. Sometimes I think what I love most about New York is it drowns out the voices in my head. I'm proud of you, she said, and you realize you've built a family around you that will not disappear, that you will not lose even as you run to the ends of the earth. 

We cannot change what has come before. 

But we can make our own trails

to follow.