So far, it's only been five days that I've been hiking.  It's hard to believe that it's only been that long, but I suppose that's also not unreasonable, given that I'm literally only walking, eating, or sleeping 95% of the time.  The step after step, the inclines and knee-shattering declines, and the near constant reorienting of my umbrella to face the sun, all of it has become part of the rhythm of the day.

But that's not to say that the apparent grind is boring or uneventful.  When hiking through the desert mountains, cactus and large, ankle-twisting rocks are obstacles at every moment.  Without even paying attention, I can now subconsciously avoid the spines and loose rock, which frees up some brain processing power for me to space out and think.

I've passed time reciting song lyrics, remembering poems, and going through the list of the presidents of the United States yet again.  These are all things I've done before to stop boredom from encroaching on my life, but during this hike, it has been such a different experience.

Unlike before, the trance of hiking allows the lines of poetry to flow through my mind, both continually and simultaneously.  They become so embedded that I feel as if I am actually living out the poem or song. The imagery intensifies under these conditions, and the words become so real, such that the poem is my new reality.  Inevitably, I break out of the daydream and remember that I'm just me, and I'm just hiking along a trail, step after step.

But sometimes, it's so hard to tell what is real and what is just my imagination.  And sometimes, it's hard to know which one I would rather exist in.