There was a time when little else mattered save to reach the apex with haste.
Gradually, we learn.
Ingested in even the smallest of doses, the foxglove can kill a human. Yet the bee survives. To be reminded of our vulnerability in the face of a flower is both exciting and humbling.
For five nights I slept beside the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. On the first, I woke before the night was up and walked with the stars over frosted grass and frozen puddles, and on the second I slept with the pounding drum of the rain upon my shelter. And so it went, from one peninsula to the next, weather on my face, beyond the whirling lighthouse of Strumble Head, the moorland ponies of Mynydd Morfa and the slatestone incisors of the Aberdinas Islands, not a another walker in sight for three days and three nights.