“How long is it?”
I was driving. There was no music on. I was too tired and needed to focus.  Leana leaned her head against the window. It was seven am. The drive was two hours. We had been up since five.
“About four hours if we take the red trail. The blue trail is much lighter, only an hour and a half total. Not worth it.”
I sipped water from the aluminum bottle. Craving coffee, I submitted to self care. I knew the hike was long and it was cold but it was beautiful. Worth it.
“What’s the other one, you said?”
She perked her head up to look at me and then quickly covered a yawn.
“The black trail,” I turned my head to glance at her. “But I think it’s too long for us.”
“The black trail? Why would they name it something so ominous?”
“To scare tourists from trying it.”
We were in Canada for a long weekend. It was five pm and the black wolf hit my back once more just to watch the little net twirl, just to hear the branch squeak, just to wonder how long it’s gonna take before the whole thing collapses. And me, my sharpie tucked neatly away in my pants, unreachable, I for once had some leisure. Looked like I had the pleasure of letting an hour pass without documenting it somewhere and watching the sky turn black, as promised, without any true sunset or portrait.

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