Chapter 6

The path up the ridge was not particularly steep, and I made better time than I thought possible. I marveled at the ease with which my body was handling the walk. Before waking up here — wherever "here" was — I'm sure I would've been sweating and gasping before I was halfway through the climb. Yet, here I was nearing the cabin, and my legs still felt strong, and I was breathing no harder than normal. By the time the path ended in a small clearing surrounding the cabin, it was clear to me that I was not the same as I had been when the fog overtook me on that mountain.

The moon and the stars had lit my way as I walked up the path, but it was evident that the sun would soon be rising. I realized the ridge must face to the east, as the first colors of the morning sun were starting to peek over the mountains blocking the horizon. It was mostly just the light of the oncoming day, but there were hints of red and gold streaming from behind the peaks as well. The mixture of colors and muted light seemed to promise a slow but spectacular build to the time the sun finally finished its climb and crested the facing mountains.

Maybe I can sit and enjoy it. I haven't watched a sunrise in... years?

I turned back to the cabin, able to see more details as it grew more visible in the oncoming daylight. It wasn't overly large, but seemed roomy enough to have at least four good-sized rooms inside. It was made from long, dark logs which seemed to have been well-selected for the purpose — each was nearly the same size in length and width, giving the cabin a decidedly square shape. Each log seemed to fit comfortably atop another at the corners, with a white-colored pitch filling the spaces between each timber. Whoever had constructed the cabin had tapered the logs instead of just cutting them off neatly at the joints. The ends of each log came to a very sharp point at each corner. The windows and front door were cut smoothly into the logs, and framed neatly with what looked to be painted and planed four-by-fours. The builder had taken the time to plane the logs so the frames fit perfectly with no unnecessary gaps or holes. As a result, the windows looked exact — perfectly square and smooth, and each placed at the exact same height and distance between each other and the corners of the cabin.

Even though there the ground around the cabin seemed untouched and pristine, it was clear to me that someone had done a lot of work to place the structure just so. The back wall abutted a sheer rock face that rose to just above the roof, then crept back toward the top of the mountain. It almost felt like the stone was somehow an integral part of the cabin, so smoothly were they joined. The building felt anchored... so solidly and carefully placed that it had become part of the mountain itself.

A wide porch ringed the cabin on its three remaining sides. As I walked closer, I could see that the porch which faced south actually hung over the ledge of the gap that separated one mountain from the next. I see could rocking chairs and small tables on all three sides of the porch. The chairs looked well worn but sturdy; even though I was not overly tired, the cushioned rockers seemed inviting... especially the ones facing the sunrise, which was shooting its beams over my shoulder and onto the porch.

I walked up the two stairs to the front porch, wondering if anyone would mind if I sat down and watched the sunrise while I waited for whatever came next. It didn't seem like anyone was stirring inside, and I didn't feel like interrupting anyone's sleep quite yet. Instead, I walked over to the nearest rocker and sat down.

I tried to relax into the chair, but something felt wrong. I didn't fit into the chair the way I should. It took me a moment to realize it was the bulkiness of the extra clothes I was still wearing that was pushing me out of the sweet spot of the chair. I stood up and slipped out of my coat, and then slipped out of my hiking boots. My extra socks, flannel shirt, and loose fitting jeans were soon piled on top of each other on the porch. I wondered what to do with them, and at that moment thought of the plastic bag I'd stuck inside my coat while walking up the Parkway. It had not fallen out when I took off my coat, and a quick pat down showed it was not somehow stuck inside it. I tried to remember if I might have dropped it, or left it on the ground near where I woke up. I didn't pay attention to them at the time, and all I could say for sure now was that the bag was gone, along with my only other clothes.

I decided to use the porch rail as a temporary clothesline, and arranged each item as neatly as possible on the wood in front of me. Satisfied that the clothes weren't going anywhere, I returned to the rocking chair, this time enjoying the feeling of the wood and weave of the rocker seeming to embrace me as I sat down. The chair seemed to start rocking itself as I again looked eastward and watched the sky grow brighter behind the far mountains. I was comfortable, and, in some fashion, content.

The golden light seemed to flow like lava through the valleys and clefts of the eastern mountains. Even as I enjoyed the sight, my mind kept trying to find something wrong with the situation. I was not where I had been, I felt completely different, and I was unduly calm about it. Shouldn't I be worried, at least a little? Shouldn't I be on high alert, ready for more weirdness at any time?

What's happening to me?

"Nothing is happening to you, Daniel. Everything that could happen to you is now over. Your mind just hasn't adjusted to the idea yet."

I was so surprised to hear the deep voice coming from my right that I nearly broke my neck turning to see who was speaking. A man was sitting in the other rocking chair present on the porch, about three feet away from me on the other side of a small table. He chuckled at my surprise and mild sense of shock.

I waited for him to say something else, but he turned his eyes from me to the sunrise, a small grin on his face as the top of the sun finally emerged, bathing us in light. I had to admit, the warm rays of the sun felt good. Closing my eyes to shield them against the sudden brightness, I felt the heat from the sun enter my body, melting away any residual cold left inside. For years, I had dealt with the numbness that was diabetic neuropathy, the constant lack of feeling and cold that seemed to grip my extremities just below the skin. But this sun seemed to reach into my hands, my fingers... my feet and toes... running along the nerves, renewing and regenerating them. I flexed my feet and, instead of the blocks of wood that usually greeted such a movement, I felt them bend easily back and forth. The heat invaded my body, seeming to trace every bone, muscle, and nerve for a heartbeat... then two... before retreating again. When I opened my eyes, the sun had fully cleared the mountains, burning brightly in a cloudless sky.