~

The road came to an open glade, and Kara sat down on a hairy tree stump. Her behind and legs were numb from cold. She longed for the warmth of the sun on her skin. Beneath her feet, sphagnum moss carpeted the ground.

Finally, rainforest country.

Man ferns adorned the edges of the glade, their foliage poised like giant jumping spiders. Kara surrendered to her favorite vice and lit her first cigarette since the car. She recalled when smoking was popular: the fabric of the office social sphere. Since her big boss had decided to quit, it had become increasingly frowned upon in her workplace. Now she was part of the office minority: pariahs, exiled to the alley next door for a few dirty minutes of every working day.

I’m free out here, she thought, watching the smoke form a thick, white cloud as it passed her lips and hit the chill mountain air. Free, like the old people were. Town life was inundating her in a flood of responsibility, repetition and despair that, more and more lately, she could feel lapping at her chin.

Kara jerked back to reality. She observed the shadows in the glade — how they had lengthened and now leaned toward her. The days were still short, although it was officially spring. The characteristics of this season resonated with Kara and she smiled inwardly at its arrival.

Time to get moving, again.

Just past the glade, the road fringed another decline. She’d walked across the top of the ridge and was on the other side now, and the view from here was completely different. Forestry had been active on this side, and reaching to the mountains in the distance was a patchwork of tree plantations, at various stages of growth. Here and there, random sections of vegetation had been cleared back to bald earth, making the landscape look like a huge, incomplete jigsaw puzzle.

The first time Kara stood at this spot, she’d melted into tears, and the noise of her emotions drifted across the valley. She was fragile, at the time, overwhelmed by life, relationships, money. The vision of the land — her ancestors’ country, so far removed from the cultural landscape it once was — took her over the edge. She cried uncontrollably, unashamedly: the way you can when you’re alone. It was in those reflective moments, with the clarity that followed this meltdown, that she resolved to put her plan into action.

Kara left the track again. She zigzagged her way downhill, using tufts of grass and dry logs to keep her balance. Toward the base of the hill, she crouched in the ferns and scanned the area below for activity. Where the slope met the flats, a caterpillar-like trail of thick manuka, interspersed with eucalypt crowns, hugged the contour. This was the creek: almost the only natural vegetation left in the valley. Forestry weren’t allowed to touch the creek. It was protected, off limits. Kara loved that. She smiled to herself. It felt, to her, like a small win.