The higher I went, the more the town disappeared behind trees.
Eventually, I reached the old quarry road.
Then the dry creek.
Then a cluster of tall rocks.
I almost gave up.
Then I saw brush covering a dark gap in the hillside.
The entrance.
I pushed branches aside.
Cold air touched my face.
I stepped inside.
At first, I could see almost nothing.
Then my eyes adjusted.
The cave was deeper than I expected.
The floor near the entrance was mostly dry.
There were black marks on one wall.
Old fire stains.
Someone had been there before.
Maybe years ago.
Maybe decades.
I dropped my bag.
Then sat against the wall.
For the first time since leaving prison, I had something that felt like shelter.
It was not a home.
But it had walls.
A roof.
Privacy.
And nobody could tell me I did not belong there.
I spent the morning gathering dry sticks.
