The sinking sun was still lighting our way back on the trail at Point Mugu yesterday. We'd conquered the trail. We were sore. Well, I was. When we reached the supposed end, no trail beckoning us, we turned and ran. We ran the whole way, only stopping when the decline grew dangerously steep, the incline grew impossible or we were crossing yet another stream. We ran and ran, Hudson chasing me, shouting quotes from my most current workout craze. And it worked. We ran together through the wilderness, and I laughed almost the entire way. I realized during our trot that we were meant to be together. And I suddenly felt halved, and then fulfilled by him. And then I saw her. A sad, frumpy woman, startled by humans. Nature probably does not startle her. Perhaps this is why she chose to hike that day. To escape from her dark, stale apartment, the dust dancing along with the swinging door. We made eye contract for a brief moment, and my heart, once inflated by our hike, sank. It sank at the thought of her. Because in that moment, I saw her life flash before me. It flashed in between us. She has no one. The previous day was one of love, probably reinforcing how singular she is. She probably spent the day indoors, curtains drawn, eating and weeping, surfing the channels, surfing waves of depression. But today something picked her up and shoved her outdoors. Something inside of her recommended a venture with nature. Something inside of her would not allow her melancholy to grow. I felt so bad for this woman. Yet I quickly looked away, perhaps shamed by my rapid judgment. Who knows. Maybe she's perfectly happy and just wanted to take a stroll. But her eyes did not say that. They screamed nothing, and that's what struck me.