If he was in the mountains, up above the tree line, he’d climb out of his bag in his wool socks and his fleece and shiver while he made coffee and watched the sunlight rise up the valley walls, seeing their color shift from black to purple to blue to green. Then he’d load his pack and lace up his boots and set out on the trail again. The movement would warm him for the rest of the day, while the snowcapped peaks kept him company in silent perfection. When you woke on a clifftop in a granite cathedral, it was easy to think you’d chosen that life on purpose.
