The Morning After

The morning after they stole my reproductive rights, I needed to get away. My husband and I loaded our day packs and two happy dogs into the car and headed to Olympic National Forest—about 90 minutes from home. We drove past strip malls and gas stations and American flags that had been hung for freedom. We drove past clearcuts and quarries, past a little girl who played at a campsite without a care in the world. We parked at the trailhead and began our long, healing hike, past ancient firs and flowing waters and the first snow on the path. I climbed until my soggy boots felt heavy beneath my legs, until my heart felt lighter with each plodding step. I climbed until the alpine ether carried me away, and I soared there like the eagle I watched spiraling above.

Because they can’t steal my wild, no matter how hard they try.