Spinning Pins

Two landmarks on the Appalachian Trail:

First, after you climb down a cleft you step through the water and, probably, every single through-hiker puts her feet on the roots of this one maple tree on the way to Maine or Georgia. The trail is a tight fit here and cooler air rolls down the V of which the streambed is the bottom. Maybe the white blaze is matched by an invisible spot where every left or right hand is laid on the bark as the person passes.



Second, a pin spins down toward the soil and makes itself, at one time anonymous, into a landmark, bleeding clay from the feet. Hiking out of the South, especially, you remark on it.