Loneliness...
David and I both knew that the end was near. It's raining in the Chattahoochee National Forest, the kind of cold rain that sings like a siren, seducing and inviting one to withdraw from the light, airy, cathedral of the mind, to descend into the sweet, watery depths of the soul. He and I were sitting under a tarp, shelter from the rain, huddling around the small, smoky fire that served to dissolve the boundary between us. It was David's 100th day in our wilderness therapy program, each of the previous days stretching through time, falling through space until they collected into a large pool, which seemed to be the totality of his young life. Each of these days, in recollection, seemed to be a journey of sorts through all the kingdoms of possible human experience: the outer darkness of parental betrayal, the scented oasis of joy, the citadel of teenage power and the open road of freedom. Yet, on this 100th day, here we were in the most unexpected of domains, the grave...