Nestled in the tranquil shade, far from the bustle of civilization, I surrendered to sleep.
For days on end, I followed a routine: stash my belongings in a tree, hike miles to the trailhead, and catch the shuttle into Sedona. After only a few hours in town, replenishing water, savoring a meal, I’d board the shuttle once more, to then hike back out into the desert for sunset.
Each night, sleep enveloped me in its deep embrace, blurring the boundaries between night and day. Was it the potent vortex energy or the sheer serenity that lulled me into such profound rest? Perhaps both, guiding me to confront the mental static within.
Amidst this stillness, I realized that if I sat somewhere I was unlikely to move, in any direction. The shuttle schedule and the miles required to hike in and then back out of Sedona were the only thing giving my time structure.
It was perfect.
It was precisely what my weary soul craved. Refreshed and invigorated, I suddenly realized the imminent challenge ahead: hiking 300 miles of the Arizona Trail in two weeks.
And I was nowhere near the trail.