The breeze pushed against the leaves, trees, blowing small eddies of leaping dirt across the path. She walked on it, the path, the red path bordered by small red strips of wood. Each step was a tired struggle as she pushed uphill.
Then she was over the top, and the vista of San Francisco and the bridge opened in front of her. A sense of vertigo touched her briefly as the yawning expanse of the Bay area pressed on her. The dizziness passed quickly, to be replaced by the familiar feeling of loss.
She continued down the path, which ended at a iron fence at the edge of the bluff. Her dark clothes flapping around her, she rested two small hands on the warm metal of the fence. She put her foot on the bottom railing. Her right arm dangled at her side, now, and her brown hair shone in the orange sunlight.
Below her, the wind coaxed white foam out of the sea water, breaking, only to be pushed anew.
