Rise

We hiked across the hills together that day. When heavier clouds began to rake the treetops of the woods and unfold, we sheltered and ate peanuts under slate rock. Your hair would obstruct your view of me and I would push curls behind your cold ears, pausing at your flushed cheeks for a while. And all we could hear was the rain ticking and dripping from the surrounding walls of flat stone. We were hidden, cut off from the world; no one knew where we were. We sat there listening in silence, occasionally catching each other's eyes, as we shuffled about on our inside-out raincoats that lay beneath us. I reached out and touched your hand. You did the same.

A break in the weather and we pulled each other upright and descended the cliff. You were ahead of me. I tried to lay my feet right where you'd been, knowing that I wouldn't slip on the muddy slopes if I did so. You were zigzagging, frequently taking a route I didn't expect, forcing me to question the longer way round, but I believed in you. I was amazed that you still managed to look at the scenery as you went, being so sure-footed like you were. I only pretended to.

Below us a distant river began to pur through the valley - twisting itself through a thickening mist. On a jutting rock, we watched it leave and reappear, and I saw in your eyes the same light as in its waters - your hair, almost dry now, your cheeks golden. You pointed and nudged me, following a kestrel with your finger. It would hover and fly, hover and fly, its head scanning - its feathers rising and falling with the gusts, its wings beating effortlesly. We were transfixed in that moment, completely unaware of each other, locked-in like the bird, its unmoving head nailing us to the wind.

You were always the first to move on, your reasons perfect, unquestionable. On this occasion it was how time and the remaining daylight were getting in each other's way, and with a descent, climb and descent still to go you knew we had to leave. You would always bounce up in one movement often leaving me twisting possessions around myself in an attempt to keep up, my camera sometimes tightening to the neck as it wound itself to a halt. I wasn't sure how you did it, but I wondered if you found it easier to break away from the moment because you were in it more.

Beyond the river and we laughed, still thinking about how I'd slipped in while crossing. I blamed the extra weight in my pack and the long lens which I maybe should have left behind. You came back and tried to lift me up but I almost dragged you in. It was the first time I'd seen you flinch. 

Stillness in the valley, the squelching of my walking boots the only sound. Every now and again, where the path bent on the ascent, I thought I heard the river water again. It forced me to pause and look for a second as its snaking line became more obvious through gaps in the silver birches. I craned my neck sideways trying to get capture something with the camera, but when I reviewed the image it said nothing about what I saw, and on deleting it I turned and realised I had lost sight of you, only to see your bobbing silhoette appear some seconds later, skirting the corner of the path. 

It was autumn and nature was losing something of itself. Beech clung to leaves, or the leaves clung to them. I knew not which. Maybe they were both trying to save each other? The leaves that stood alone appeared to have more about them than the others, dancing with an effervescence that only spring could bring. I wondered if their twinkling joy gave them more strength, or whether the tree just had favourites all along. Whatever it was, I found myself searching them out on every tree I passed.

The light was draining, so I tried to make more of an effort to keep up. On the steep terrain you sometimes offered your hand to me and I would always oblige although it felt like you took a piece of me away with you which I struggled to regain. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but I realised that my sodden boots were beginning to blister at the heels and nature's voice seemed less my companion.

Nearing the summit, it forked. I desperately wanted to follow you but my stinging feet forced me onto the lower, longer path where the ground was firmer. Even though you were carrying my bag by now, I was sure I caught sight of you breaking into a run near the top - your arms pumping free, your bouncing locks. In a way I was glad I wasn't holding you back though a part of me would have seized the night right there and then just to spend another night with you. 

Your shouting pierced my daydream as you encouraged me up - all arms and lungs, telling me how wonderful the sunset was up there, how I had to hurry to see the best of it before it came to an end, and how little time we had left now. I had never seen you as desperate as that moment. But the more you screamed out the harder it seemed to be, all the more painful to bear. Before it was too late, I felt like I wanted to remove all batteries from your clocks and reset your stiffening hands to zero.

When I got to the top, you were still there, scratching the view's surface for any remaining colour. I left you there in silence for a moment before asking you something, but all I could hear was the strengthening air beating at my ears. I pointed above your head as a pair of red kites went riding the thermals - chasing and circling and colliding. I wondered if they were playing; it was difficult to make out. But as you led us down from there I thought I heard one of them call out, its eyes drawn to the horizon, disappearing into a thinning light, where grieving leaves blew free.