A memory of a trail

I can’t get a stretch of trail out of my head.

It must be the season.

I haven’t been there for years, but years ago I walked it many times every fall.

The stretch of trail I keep seeing isn’t particularly scenic or rugged. It’s not near the beginning or the end, but somewhere near the middle.

While it’s deep in the mountains and only a couple of miles from the top of the divide, the timber is so thick there you’d never guess what’s ahead.

It’s not an official trail -- marked only by faint blazes cut years ago – and peters out in a large basin just below the divide. Probably the work of a sheep...