The Pole Tip

On a forest trail in the afternoon, cicadas roar. Taisheng, his worn brown backpack on his back, peeks out beside a fern clump and dashes behind a big fallen log. Footsteps crunch closer: two hikers with trekking poles, chatting. A pole tip thuds into the soil a fist's width from him. He presses against the mossy bark, holding his breath. When the steps fade, he slips along the log and runs to a large mossy rock. Sunbeams fall through the tall trees onto the moss. Crouched by the rock, he gazes at the glowing slope ahead.