oneword: hill

The air is crispy clean and the leaves are starting to bleed from their branches. I wrap my wool sweater tight around my body, trapping the heat from within, preparing for the windy chill to come. Step by step, I make my way upwards, feeling a healthy burn, a steady pulse, flow through my thighs.

A figure awaits, darkened by the backlit twilight sky. It lingers in obscurity. And I'm not sure whether to keep going forward or to turn and run away.

At the top of the hill, there is a figure. There is a shadow and a question. At the top of the hill, which is ever so close now, awaits a decision. Shifty and unpredictible.

But as nervous as I am, I keep stepping. I keep climbing. I am anxious and excited. I am nervous and confident. I am all sorts of mixed-up and clear all rolled into that wool sweater.

Something is waiting there. At the top of the hill.