Clear Path

Took the motorcycle up the mountain switchbacks until a fallen spruce tree blocked the dirt shoulder entirely. Dead weight across a blind corner is an accident waiting to happen for anyone pushing fast up the pass. I cut the engine, swung my boot over the saddle, and waded into the needles. With both hands planted firm against the coarse, bark-stripped trunk, I heaved with my legs until the deadfall cracked loose from the embankment. Rolled the heavy log clear off the edge, sending it crashing harmlessly down the shale ravine. Cleared the road, wiped the pine sap off my palms, and let the quiet valley air settle around me.