I was allowed to chart my own path on the way up there, and this freedom made me feel less vulnerable than during the rest of the day. There was no forced or predetermined direction for me to take home, and I could walk where I wanted. I returned often to the woods where we sat in the rain together for those many hours during that long storm. Each time I went back there, I became a little better at climbing the paths and avoiding the sharp, dangerous rocks. Learning where things were, I learned that I didn’t need to climb straight up that cliff to reach our spot. On the night we met, I hadn’t discovered the paths to the top of the mountain that weren’t as dangerous to traverse. I knew where to go safely, so she wouldn’t have to worry about saving me again. As I explored the mountain, things began to emerge that I hadn’t seen on my first encounters. It was a much longer path, but one I used since it was safer. The problem was that it exposed me to the outside world a bit more. It was still hard to see from the nearby street and the entrance wasn’t marked with any signs. It seemed like a small cluster of woods at the edge of a nearly deserted street. Even through I wasn’t likely to be spotted there since it was so isolated and neglected, I made careful that others weren’t around when I entered. It was a peaceful place and I didn’t want anyone else to following me, especially not those who wouldn’t understand.

As the first few days of December arrived, the long autumn began to fade into winter. It happened hesitatingly, a slow change occurring one moment at a time. The change from October to November was scarcely noticeable. There was an occasional cold gust that chilled the air. Meanwhile, the leaves steadily began to fall, collecting into small piles on the ground. When they fell, they cemented the muddy paths into a stronger, crisper walkways littered with crackling twigs and acorns. As the trees began to fall asleep, resting for the winter, their forms changed slowly. They were still strong and tall, but they were slender now, with their thick branches now barren, twisting into new forms. They seemed more vulnerable than they had in earlier. Their brittle branches stretched far into the sky, guarding and overlooking the ground beneath them. Their personality seemed to change with the seasons as well. Instead of angrily blocking the moon’s radiance as the night fell over the woods, they seemed to absorb their glow with less reluctance as the nights grew colder. Embracing their new forms, they adapted to the changed world and began to accept its changed reality. They responded by creating shadows which planted distinct markers between light and dark section into the ground. As they changed their shapes, they revealed sections of woods where I could walk through safely, and other areas I could walk through undetected since they were shrouded nearly completely in darkness as the afternoon slipped away. I learned the best paths to take, slowly it became my sanctuary. It had become a refuge where I could be alone without feeling afraid.

It usually took me awhile to get there. I had to walk, since the uneven land and scattered rocks and twigs made running dangerous. This was even more true after a rainy day, when the ground would turn into thick mud that gripped my sneakers, making it more difficult to lift my feet. However, the effort to get there was worth it. I could usually feel the day’s pressures lifting from me once I reached the end of the pathway. I’d sit there for a few minutes and rest. I used my backpack as a pillow and catch my breath. As the problems of the day receded, I felt the peacefulness of the trees and their wiry branches protecting me. Gradually, I let the world slide away. Under their guard, I was alone and could feel myself returning to reality as the survival constructions I built slowly peeled away. As I sat there on those cold December afternoons, the solitude became a concentrating force, allowing me to feel things I normally wouldn’t be able to. Through the blowing winds and slowly receding sunlight, I could occasionally feel a kind of echo of her spirit that still remained there. It brought me back to that moment immediately. I didn’t have an expectation of her imminent return. It worked in allowing me to relive that moment without needing to actually see her sitting on the rocks again. I knew she wasn’t going to be there all the time, but the fleeting moments we shared together were important. Our bond was strong enough on its own without the constant reinforcement of direct contact. As I sat there, I could see her whenever I wanted to, using a variety of different methods that I created. They worked for me, but I didn’t think anyone else would’ve been able to reproduce the system I had. It was full of secret codes and things only the two of us would know.

Regardless of her immediate presence, It was the perfect place to go when I wanted to be alone. As the days went on, I discovered that I was good at cloaking myself and disappearing underneath the shadows. A few times, I would hear something and a stray cat or dog would walk by and not see me at all, which was a fairly fun game to play. It was a serene place for me to escape; its quiet solitude brought me to another place. Even as I walked there, I felt things lift from me. I could finally be alone, vanishing into another world, released from expectations, alone with my memories, finally free to think and exist without any pressure. The more time I spent there, the more it became familiar. I found favorite spots and sections; the locations of trees and other landmarks became second nature. I navigated through the paths effortlessly, increasing my comfort level with each day. As December reach its center, my journeys began to dwindle in length as the days became shorter. These visits shrank until they became only a few fleeting minutes, a short moment of peace, to remember and think about things, on the way back home. Our secret was safe, but its presence slowly diminished in my as time went on. When I was there, I always took the opportunity to take a deep, cold breath, inhaling its purity and solace before I left and the long winter nights took hold of the world with its unrelenting icy grip. Eventually, it got too cold to stay outside for very long and I didn’t visit again for several weeks. I felt a bit lost without my times up there and I tried to think of ways to get back there. However, it seemed too dangerous to be out alone for so long, especially when the darkness and cold became overwhelming. I put it aside for those few weeks and focused on other things.

During the week before Christmas, I caught a break that gave me more time to explore. The school was letting out early and this gave me more daylight to explore once again. I returned one afternoon to find things had changed once again. The wide rocky paths pf the fall had narrowed under the icy layers that had accumulated. This made them harder to traverse and gave me less leeway. I walked up through the paths and it seemed quieter than usual. Everything radiated stillness and calm, which was at once reassuring and unnerving. Most of the leaves had fallen and the rocks and twigs had sunk into the ground, making the paths smoother, but also slippery. This changed the landscape and I had to take some different paths to get there. Some of the safer sections weren’t as predictable, making each step an unexpected adventure. At this point, I knew the ridges and valleys well enough and its familiarity allowed me to find my way back to our hidden refuge without much effort. I noticed that the breaks weren’t as forgiving, but I most of the landscape was familiar.

I looked upwards and saw the old trees hadn’t moved, but they looked different. After putting up a valiant battle, the trees finally succumbed to the winter’s grip. I saw their thin branches covered in layers of frozen ice, standing firm against the wind. They seemed stiffer against the wind, barely budging against the stiff breezes that blew through. I walked towards the other side, where I had first stood. That night earlier in the fall came flooding back to me and I felt a rush as I remembered how I felt. Those minutes seemed like hours when I was standing there alone on the ledge. Moving closer to the site of my near-disaster, I remembered how afraid I was until the moment when she grabbed me. How I was able to hold on so long was something I couldn’t explain. She was there the moment I needed her, and I was grateful for her presence and help. The long winter night emerged slowly on the horizon. Its namesake moon began to illuminate the ground in its distinctive blue glow. I stood there for several minutes basking in the impervious light of the ascending early-winter moon. I could see the entire town peaking out from behind the trees. It seemed smaller than I remembered in some ways, but also less cluttered. With wind and ice that had accumulated, if I squinted hard enough, the reflections in the windows were twinkling as the sun slowly began its descent. The ledge was near the top of the hill, with a long way down if a single slip occurred. I stood there for quite awhile, letting the wind blow through me, allowing the cold to permeate my body. Slowly, I felt myself becoming as stiff as the trees surrounding me. It let me think about things in different ways. I was able to transport myself back to that night and relive that moment. Once again, I could feel her hand as it grabbed me, the way she held onto me, and how quickly she was able to pull me up. It had seemed effortless, she forged an immediate bond, and her grip instantly replaced imminent danger with safety.

As I stood there at the edge of the cliff, I thought of how my perceptions of the past frequently changed as subsequent events occurred. This brought back our encounter because the memory was so different from so much else that had happened. It remained as vivid and unchanging as the rocks beneath my feet. The memory was unchanging, perfectly replicating itself exactly each time. It flooded back and crested towards that moment. She was there at the moment I needed help. It was as clear as if it had happened a minute ago. It was the kind of moment that stood out in time, a clear line that wouldn’t change shape. I held onto it for months, knowing what I knew, and where I was, it brought a shiver down my back, it could have ended there, but it didn’t. I stood near the edge of the mountain for a very long time, but even my endurance wasn’t enough to take the direct assault for very long. I walked back towards the safer middle of the mountain, where the ground was flat. I soaked it all in, knowing that additional opportunities for visits were dwindling fast, I didn’t want to let it go. I looked up and saw the clouds begin to darken. I could feel another storm forming and I knew that I wouldn’t stay there through the night. I watched the clouds slowly overtake the moon and felt the winds begin to blow stronger. As I began to walk back towards the other side of the hill, I felt a few small flurries on my face. It was a prelude to a much stronger wave. There wasn’t much more time to linger there, as much as I didn’t want to let the moment go, I knew I needed to leave. I walked past the rocks where we sat during that long night and began to doubt, in some small way, whether it has actually happened. I looked at them and they seemed a bit strange, a little larger than they seemed at the time. Deciding to go a little closer to them, I felt the snow flurries getting a bit larger and more intense, their flakes increasing in size and volume. Soon, they filled the sky and the ground, slowly saturating the mountain. I reached them once again and I felt a sudden dizziness in my head.  The memory of our long night together surged into my body and it was a little overwhelming. I decided to sit on the rock once again to regain my balance. I thought of how close she seemed that night, and also how distant she seemed then. I thought I could feel her presence, but wasn’t quite sure if it was a memory or something happening at that moment.