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“Word is you’re going to transition to electric shuttles.”
“Yeah, by the fall peak. We’re putting in more charging stations.”
“Also smart.”
They came in sight of the ropes course, tucked in the trees. Morgan shook her head at the guests climbing, balancing, swinging high above her head.
“I can see doing that,” she said as Miles steered her to the trailhead, “when the zombie apocalypse hits, or the inevitable invasion by aliens hell-bent on exterminating the human race. It might be necessary tobuild rope bridges and walls, learn to balance on swinging tires and wood planks. But until then?”
She shifted her pack. “I’ll stick with hiking trails for my adventuring. And this is why,” she added, as they started the climb through the birch trail that gave the trail its name.
“It’s beautiful, already beautiful.”
“It gets better. Let me know when you’re tired of handling the leash.”
“We’re fine. I’m going to take a million pictures, so be prepared for it. Like now. Oh, I remember this. Wild lupine.” When she crouched down to frame the spears of purple, Howl licked her cheek.
Miles waited, patient enough, each time she stopped to capture some spotted joe-pye weed, or whatever she found interesting in the bark on birches, old-growth maples.
They passed a group heading down, were passed by another couple heading up.
He liked her company, liked she didn’t chatter endlessly, but could appreciate the quiet and the song of birds. He hadn’t made enough time for this lately, he admitted, for just walking through the hills and forest he loved.
She stopped, held up a hand. “Wait, I hear… Is that a waterfall?”
“Around the next bend in the trail. It’s small but scenic. Little White Falls. Resort property ends there, so we have the cutoff to loop back, or we can take the longer that runs through the national forest. It gets steeper.”
“Definitely the longer, but I want to see the falls.”
They tumbled down, dashing into the river below and foaming white against the weak-tea brown.
“It’s beautiful. It’s like music.”
And it sparkled over the rock, beat water against water so the river showed its floor. Where the shade spread, moss-carpeted limbs turned the light soft. Yet the sun struck the tumbling water, bright as a laser.
The couple who’d passed them took a couple selfies, then turned to take the trail back down. A group of three rose from a low rock ledge, then continued on up the trail.
Miles took the leash so she could pull out her phone yet again. While she got her pictures, he pulled the collapsible cup out of his pack, poured water into it.
A grateful Howl lapped it up.
He glanced up in time to see her take their picture as he crouched down to offer the dog a second cup.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I tossed an old plastic bowl in my pack. The cup’s better.”
She lifted her face to the sky. “This is the most perfect spot. I hate selfies,” she said looking back at him.
“I’m with you on that.”
“But it’s a waterfall, and I’d like to make an exception to my no-selfie rule.”
“Go ahead.”
“It includes you. It’s a waterfall, Miles, and the light’s perfect. So please, just this once.”
He should’ve known it would happen, just as he accepted refusing made him a jerk. He didn’t mind being a jerk, but he’d mind more spoiling the moment.
He stepped over to her.
