Hiking during a pandemic
The afternoon sky, dotted with a vanishing field of clouds, is so clear that from up here, about two thirds of the way up the eastern ridge of Rubio canyon, you can see ships leaving LA harbor. Beyond that, Catalina island cuts a jagged line on the horizon. To the west, the falling sun bounces off the ocean in golden hues. You can hear dogs bark in yards somewhere in the foothills, two thousand feet below, and sirens. I counted four since leaving the car at the trailhead and can’t help thinking: is that four more covid cases? But I remind myself that sirens are common, aren’t they? Though it is true I never payed attention to them the way I have today.
It all feels unreal
Is the city hum fainter?
the sunlight dimmer?
On trail the chaparral sings
with scents of sage and wild thyme
I encountered only one other hiker on this rather steep and forgotten trail, which is more than on the many previous times I’ve walked it in the past fifteen years. We followed city and county orders and maintained adequate social distance, exchanging a cursory greeting. Everyone must do their part.
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