The descent took a different quality from the climb.
Going up, there was the forward momentum of a destination — the trail pulling them toward the ridge, the conversation moving with the same direction as their feet. Coming down was slower in the specific way of descents, the body working differently, the attention required differently distributed. They moved through the switchbacks with the easy, unhurried pace of two people who have nowhere to be and have stopped pretending otherwise.
The trail narrowed as they came down through the lower canyon, the oak trees closing back in, the sound of the creek returning below. The light had changed — the December overcast had thinned while they were on the ridge and now there was actual sun in it, pale and low, the kind of California winter light
