He Leads

He Leads

He had a bush knife in one hand and a soda bottle full of water in the other. His flip flop clad, calloused brown feet never slipped once on the steep jungle path as he ambled along waiting for us to catch up. And there we were, a sunscreen-drenched, sweaty mess of a clumsy line, trudging along behind with our backpacks and hats and hiking shoes. We felt pretty good about ourselves, like a victorious herd of turtles, when we arrived weary and breathless back at our dorm. The reality is that our guide was easy on us. He grew up on the trails around here, and without him we would have been hopelessly lost. Jungle trails were part of my childhood, too, but my 38-year-old body has grown accustomed to cars and sofas and television. That hike was hard. And it was the...

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