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I squinted. Not because the sun was so bright—it was actually this sort of golden light, much gentler than what I’m used to at home—but because my eyes weren’t used to what I was seeing. Rock and rock and rock and rock. No trees, no shrubs, just rock.
And a deliriously happy dog. And Halli. Who grinned at me and offered her usual “Heya” before handing me a bundle of clothes.
We’d agreed that I’d show up wearing just the thick long underwear my mom bought me a few years ago when we decided to try sledding in the mountains above Tucson. That lasted half a day—we realized neither one of us likes being cold—but I still had the clothes, since I never seem to get rid of anything.
“This is good,” I said of the private little nook Halli had found us off the trail. It was hidden enough that
