She hoped her friend would return to Sardinia full of Abitibi’s colours and fragrances. Gabriella. Whose hands released cool energy as she massaged away the pain in her lower back, the pain that fractured her nights into bouts of sleeplessness. Who massaged her scalp and eased her migraines; who found it hard to believe when she thanked her for her magic healing touch.

At long last, the sun made a days-long appearance, hot and bountiful from sunrise to sunset; summer’s solstice approached, its light more lasting, gaining on the dark. They pulled on hiking boots to climb Aiguebelle’s hills on the very day the park opened, its name taken from those same pre-Cambrian hills. The surface rock formations date back not millions but billions of years and are among the oldest on earth. At one point, the waters separate, heading either north or south, giving the very territory its name, Abitibi or watershed. A sacred name.

Her legs felt heavy as they climbed, lead seemed to flow from the rock and cling to her body, rooting it to the ground; a squirrel sat on her foot to nibble on a pine cone. Standing before the precipice overlooking the lake hemmed in by two rock walls and straddled by a steel-cable bridge ending in an odd sculpture of a giant bear, Gabriella could feel the power through the soles of her boots; she took fright and tried to cry out, but her throat seized up and she gave nothing more than a squawk. Her friend slapped Gabriella’s back so she could take her next breath. A blue butterfly flitted about her face and landed on her cheek, a long, gentle kiss while its wings beat softly. Since she was poised to bite into an apple, the butterfly flew to her thigh, where it continued to fan its wings open and shut to the beat of her pulse. An eagle screeched and wheeled overhead. Filled with wonder, Gabriella burst into her childlike laugh.