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And this is where temptation got the better of me on my hike back. I made it about halfway before I succumbed. And I am not proud of my actions.
I asked myself:What can eight wildflowers hurt?
What can I say? I have a bucket list. Temptation cheered me on, and the next thing I knew, I had removed my backpack, placing it down on the side of the trail. I dug around in it until I found my authentic Swiss Army knife.
I spent a hot minute trying to find the scissor tool. I mean, who can ever find the tool they want the first time? Then I walked over and snipped off five California poppies and three purple wildflowers.
On my way back to the backpack, my toe stubbed a small rock, my ankle rolled, and then I rolled right along with the momentum.
In that split second, I chose to protect those flowers with my life, cradling them against my chest. My tumble turned into a side face plant as I twisted my body, using my shoulder to take most of the brunt of the impact with the dusty ground.
That would be some of the ouches I am experiencing, lying here, staring at the blue canvas above me as I bathe in my disgrace.
It is unfixable what I have done.
I selfishly stole from nature.
I don’t think I have ‘get bitten by karma’ on my bucket list.Bugger,I should have put it on there.
Clutching the little bunch of wildflowers, surprisingly undamaged, I let the shame set in because I am now a trail criminal, but I can’t lie here forever because people are hiking this trail. I need to suck it up, get my sorry arse off this dirty ground.
I release the flowers from the death clutch I have on them and place them beside me, then sit up. The minimal movement makes my ankle scream at me. I am also feeling the effects from the pile-driver my shoulder took, taking one for the team. I rotate it. I doubt there is any actual harm done underneath my clothing, but at minimum, probably a big bruise will be starting to blossom.
Next is my ankle. I assess the damage, peeling the leg of my yoga pants up and prod gently, wincing. I don’t think anything got broken. Swelling has set in, so this should be fun getting back to the bike.
Yay me. Walking will be slow and painful.
I swipe at the wetness I feel on my cheek with the back of my hand. What the heck? Turning my hand over, I see blood smeared.
Stretching my arm out, I grab my backpack, dragging it closer to me. I find some neatly folded tissues in a side pocket and dab at what feels like a bloody scrape on my cheek. Well, that stings.
Looking up to the sky, I murmur, “See, this is what happens when you knowingly break the law so that you can cross an item off the bucket list. Everything comes in three’s: ankle, shoulder, cheek.”
Payback is a bitch. Punishment gets meted out.
I have done the deed now, and I can’t stick the flowers back in the ground, but I won’t allow them to wilt and die today.
I pour a small amount of water into a plastic bag I find inside a pocket of my backpack and then place the wildflowers’ stems first in the bag. Then I tug one hair tie out of my hair, leaving me with a lopsided hairdo, and wrap it three times around the bag, securing the flowers to the bag before carefully placing them inside my backpack.
After testing my foot by hobbling a few steps in pain (because I am stubborn like that), the realization hits: it ain’t gonna happen.
I manage to hop to a large enough rock to sit on without any hikers catching sight of me. Thank you, yoga, for the Vrksasana/Tree pose practice of standing on one foot.
I take my camera out and let it hang around my neck, then position myself carefully because if anybody comes walking the trail, I can pretend I am sitting and enjoying the scenery while taking photos because I can’t admit the truth of my sins to a stranger.
Sighing in defeat, all I can do is call for help. Funnily enough, the first name that comes to mind for assistance isn’t Ophelia’s, but Angus’s.
Why?
Because baby did a bad, bad thing.
Angus is the only one of our friends I can admit my crime to and take the walk of shame in front of.
Setting my phone to airplane mode because cell service is weak here, I find his name and wait for the speed dial to connect. The phone is ringing, which is a good sign. Airplane mode for the win.
And it is ringing…
I am about to—
