This boulder has no soul. I know this and know that it does not breathe, bleed or feel emotion. If it did we could admire it for courage and patience. An advancing glacier ripped it into life from a granite bed and carried it toward the sea. When riding in the interface of land and ice the boulder cut long straight grooves in the passed over rock. Later the ice entombed it until it broke to the glacier’s surface. Then the glacier retreated back over this flat ground and dropped the boulder here where we call it an erratic.
Imprisoned by inertia, its life of adventure over, the erratic rested here with patience, as naked as the rest of the moraine left behind by the failing river of ice. Pioneering moss moved in and softened all sharp corners with a brown and green blanket. That’s what Aki and I see today.
A troll could pass through this moss covered boulder field without making a sound or stubbing a toe. We enter it and wander in rain until we get just lost enough to inject some adventure. Aki hangs back at my heels but doesn’t break back to the trail. Without landmarks I take the easiest path through the woods. We could be miles lost. Aki breaks suddenly to the right, runs ten feet, and then turns back with an invitation to follow. I do and soon we are back on a trail lined in thick green brush and a scattering of pearl pink orchids.