I found my color

She almost turned back.

Standing at the trailhead, staring at the path winding uphill, she felt the familiar dread settling in. She looked at her car. Then at this new trail. Then back at her car. Grey and familiar. It would be so easy to just get back in. Two hours of driving to get here. She took a deep breath. The air smelled like pine and cold morning. As her shoes touched the path, they made that crunchy sound. Oh well, here we go.

She started walking uphill. The air was crisp. Within minutes, patches of brown stuck to her light grey hiking pants and her light blue shoes. Great, already a mess, she thought. The dirt was an unwelcome passenger, a dull weight against the blue of her shoes.

The climb got strenuous. Heat pressed down on her shoulders. She kept hoping for level ground that never came. Her breathing got heavier. Her heart raced—thud, thud, thud, thud. Sweat dripped down her back, making her shirt cling to her skin in a way that felt suffocating. She checked her watch three times in ten minutes. She considered turning around more than once.

She went on.

The path stretched ahead, brown. Wildflowers bloomed on either side—bright yellows, purples. Beautiful. Eye-catching. She stopped to look at them. She noticed something. The wildflowers came and went. They bloomed in patches, then disappeared around the next bend.

The path stayed.

It wound through the hills, steady and constant. The bark of the trees caught her attention, so did the stones covered in brown dirt. As the wind blew, dust gathered itself into loops and danced away, like it was happy to see the wind.

She could taste it—the dust in the air, bitter on her tongue. Brown. Raw. Crunchy. It connected her to her body, to the exact moment her boot hit the earth. She wasn't thinking about anything. Walking. Breathing.

The meadows came next. A small winding path cut through green grass, cozy and quiet. Like this little world belonged to her. She walked slowly through it, taking her time. The green looked bright and colorful, but it was the path that caught her attention. There was something grounding about it, a certain steadiness.

She ate her peanut butter and jam sandwich on top of the plateau. Found a flat rock to sit on. Across the river, more brown plateaus rose up, their slants clearly visible like the dusty bones of the earth. Sunflowers turned their dark chocolate faces toward the plateau. The air smelled fresh, layered with the scent of dry soil. Crickets made their sound somewhere in the grass. She sat there for a while. Chewing slowly. Watching the river below.

She thought about last week—the beautifully lit restaurant, the plated food, the good company. She had laughed, eaten well, been present enough. But even then, part of her had already been somewhere else.

Sitting here, the time didn't feel like something she had to kill. She wasn't waiting for the sun to set. She was just sitting. For the first time in a long time, the silence didn't feel heavy; it felt solid.

The way down was easier on her lungs but harder on her knees. She took careful steps, watching where she placed her feet. She stopped at a tree. An old one, with thick brown bark. She reached out and touched it. The brown wasn't just a color; it was a smell, thick and familiar like the oil in her grandmom's hair. She felt the brown moving through her palm—solid, real, quiet and uneven. She traced one with her fingers slowly, the way you might read something important you don't want to forget. The tree didn't ask anything of her. There was something relieving about that. She thought about all the things she filled her days with — the chores, plans and other things to do — and how none of it felt as present as this. Her palm on bark. Her breath slowing. The hill quiet around her.

She stayed there longer than she meant to.

The path led her around the hill. Steep drop-offs appeared, intimidating and close. She looked at the edge, where the dry, crumbly dirt gave way to nothing. A few brown pebbles rolled off the side, clicking against the hill until they vanished into the quiet below. One wrong step and that would be it. Her breath caught in her throat. But she told herself to trust the path, trust the earth beneath her feet. Each step felt like the ground saying—I got you. A small victory. A deep breath. Another small victory. The path carried her forward, safely downhill, out of danger.

Nearing the parking lot, her steps grew lighter. Quicker. Almost bouncing. By the time she reached the parking lot, her legs were tired and her shirt was soaked with sweat. Her hands were grimy. Her pulse was high with excitement. On the drive home, she kept thinking about the trail. She couldn't stop replaying the meadows, the dust dancing, the solid tree bark. She looked at her hands. There was dirt in the lines of her palms and under her nails.

When she got home, she went to the shower. The water ran warm against her skin. She watched the dust lift off her skin, swirl, and circle the drain. Something was rising in her chest, slow and certain. She let it come. She cried. Not the kind that surprises you. The kind you see arriving from a distance and simply don't move out of the way of. The brown water kept swirling at her feet. She watched it until it ran clear. She dried off slowly.

On her way to the room, she saw her dirty shoes by the door. Didn't clean them.

She lay in bed. Closed her eyes. The meadows came back. The dust, dancing. The bark under her palm. The path, just being the path.

She fell asleep in an instant. It was the best sleep she'd had in months.

Brown.