Mimosas on Mt Woodson, hell yeah

Yesterday was my birthday.  Ritual, not routine at all.  I met Olivia at her place at 6:30(ish) in the morning to get an early jump on our hike.  The weather was perfect, cooling us down as we slogged our way up the slopes.  She randomly detoured to a perfect outcropping of rock, insisting this was the best place to break.  The top was pretty much an homage to alien comm or domestic espionage.

She started rifling through her bag and proudly handed me one cup, and then another.  Then a bottle of Prosecco magically appeared!  Pop!  Laugh.  Pour.  Planned to perfection, we talked about future adventuring, enjoyed the view, delighted in the envious grunts of boot camp runners discovering our mimosas.

Since we didn’t want to eat granite on the way down, we finished off the rest by the lake.  Basking in the warmth and utter beauty of the moment, it was only natural that O would say something like, “What’s that one your arm?  Chocolate or bird shit?”  She insisted it was good luck.  This claim definitely remains unsubstantiated.

It was seriously an awesome start to an awesome day with a fundamentally amazing friend.


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