The knotted strings of my soul loosen with every turn that leads me away from the city. I know how to get there now without directions. The mess of my soul untwists and unravels when I pass *Dr. Sprackens Drive. I giggle at the hick name, but long for the simpler time when it would have been commonplace. I envision the street's namesake as a spectacled man with a black medical bag, making house calls to check out little Billy Ray's strange rash.
I am even closer when I pass *Christ's Glory Baptist Church -home of the drive-thru crucifixion. "Come and see the brutal murder of our king from the comfort of your climate-controlled vehicle." Popcorn, anyone?
Turning into the park's drive is like coming home from a job you hate (I don't hate my job as mother, just the city). Stepping out of the car is stepping into my sanctuary. I am home. The actual physical feeling here can only be described as open. I feel like a space has opened up in my head, empty of fear and anger. In their place perspective and awe. These feelings don't take up as much room in my cavernous mind as the former occupants, but instead of feeling empty, I am whole. This is why I hike.
*Names have been changed to protect my family.
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