Poetry in Motion - The Legend of Maya Humeau

Maya had convinced me to sneak in one last day in the mountains before the alpine season ended. It was a frosty September morning, and we’d gotten a late start on Mount Evans. Despite my plea to sleep in, she dragged me off her couch, where I was crashing for the night, and fed me a full breakfast of bacon and eggs and enough coffee to make me vibrate.

She walked ahead of me on the trail from the parking lot and up the ridge toward the rappels into the climb, exclaiming praise at the last few fungi specimens of the season. “Fruiting bodies” as she liked to call them. “I can’t believe there’s still alpine puffballs—above treeline—in September!” she sang out, bursting with elation at the magic all around us.

Read the full story here