During the weekend, I headed out toward Heather Lake for a long forest hike and a little distance from the noise of the city. The trail moved through everything I love about the Pacific Northwest, moss-covered trees, damp earth, wooden footbridges, and that cool mountain air that somehow feels cleaner the deeper you go. Spring has fully settled into the forest now, everything impossibly green, the sound of runoff moving through the woods beside the trail.
The climb wasn’t rushed. I let myself settle into the rhythm of it, boots against dirt, breath evening out somewhere between the switchbacks and the quieter stretches beneath the trees. And then the lake appeared. Still, reflective, tucked beneath steep mountain walls with patches of lingering snow higher above the shoreline. The kind of place that makes you instinctively lower your voice, as if the landscape itself deserves quiet.
I stayed there for a while, just sitting near the water, letting the silence settle in around me. Some weekends don’t need plans beyond a trailhead and enough time to disappear into the woods for a few hours.
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