I didn’t mind ferns enough, I thought, the last time I hiked upto Lookout Point. They’re so unassuming. I’d be lookingat the tops of third-generation redwoods, or beyond, towardGoogleplex, in Mountain View, which later Google confirmedwas the complex off in the distance. And I’d be picturing,those last days, rhizomes and spores. Sorry to make you feel judged,I almost texted. Stopped myself. Truth is I judge, and if judgeswere prone to feeling sorry, they wouldn’t. I welcomed noiseinstead of trying to block it out with the folk musician’s songs,Scottish, coming from my laptop. If you don’t remember a name,does it mean you don’t care to remember. You’d taken yourselfto places whose specifics you’d chosen to forget. You said youweren’t there to keep track, but to experience. Which, whenI’m feeling negative, I translate as ditching the thing as soon asyou’re done with it onto the heap of junk you’re not accumulating.Those who get the backend know what detailed tagging can lead to:a map so precise it’s the territory’s size. We’re drifting apartagain, spore-like. I’m done completing your sentences.A version of the signs along the trail anticipating the hikers’ups and downs. “It begins with feeling,” was the first, spottedat the same time I noticed the pet waste bags someone had leftbehind. “Here you leave your worries,” seen after I passed a guywhose grin was such, he did seem to have just dumped them.This one got me thinking about our tendency to ruin things:“This is a beautiful moment.” The last wasn’t part of the art:“Please keep out of area under renovation.” That resonated.