Book One

First Touch

Bus rides up the hill from Production Way to University Drive became slow pilgrimages. The valley flashed past like a golden bride hidden behind the trees, sunlight tracing her brow with a delicate veil. I gripped my book, feeling the weight of anticipation in my chest, a yearning that rose like the mountains themselves. Each sighting, each climb, felt like a meditation, a ritual in which the quiet strength of the wilderness seeped into me. I watched fellow passengers drift into their own worlds, their faces shadowed with fatigue or distraction, and felt a certain solitude envelop me that was strangely comforting, a quiet intimacy with being fully present and fully alone…