About 35 years ago, while I was hitch-hiking in the late afternoon at the edge of Victoria, British Columbia, a typically amiable, forty-ish, brown haired, average-sized Canadian rocking a dark t-shirt and a bushy mustache stopped for me. His name was characteristically Canadian, like Trevor or Nolan. Having seen my backpack, Trevor guessed that I was going to the West Coast Trail to hike for a week. I confirmed his suspicion.
That was moving & sublimely written. Thank you, Mark. I will think a little differently about death.
Mike
I had missed this one. I’m glad you linked it in your most recent post. Thank you for the perspective and beautiful story.
Beautiful
Timeless article Mark. I think I enjoy it more now than when I first read it on Medium.