A Word About Capes

On Sunday I hiked from Short Sands beach to a precipice overlooking the cold Pacific. This precipice had the regal name of Cape Falcon. Now, sometimes when I hike alone I'll listen to music, or WTF by Marc Maron. Sometimes it's better not to, though. Then you can do all that thinking that walking seems to induce. Range around on such far-flung topics as what you're going to eat for lunch and the state of your spiritual well being. Foggy sunlight, like juice, runs through the trees. The views come and go. And finally, out at the "cape," where you're dripping in sweat, the skyline's all hidden in mist. The only thing to do now is look down at the craggy coastline and think about more immediate things, like the fact that you're standing at the  very edge of the continent with nothing between you and Japan but a few million whitecaps. Whoa.