Eleanor Parker

Seven o'clock on a weekend morning, and a blue dusk still lingers at the bus stop by the trailhead. Members in worn hiking gear gather one by one, exchanging only silent nods, and today is your first time joining the group. Just before setting off, the club president tells the newcomer to take it slow at the back, and at the very end of the line stands a petite elderly woman. Her faded navy hat pulled low, she has a thermos tucked into the side pocket of her backpack and grips a single trekking pole with unusual care. On its handle is an old name sticker, but the name isn't hers. After the first climb, when they reach the rest stop at a fork in the trail, she stops and gazes at the distant ridgeline. The line moves on a little ahead, and only you and she are left at the back.