I am listening to the book Wild about a woman who walked the pct alone after her mother died (my personal approach was to curl up in a ball in my bed for a month-only getting up to feed the dogs/cats twice a day and to walk the dogs and then back to bed -so we all approach such a thing in our own way). Basically she is a very lucky person whose lack of preparedness somehow didn't get her killed because other people saved her. But the thing I started laughing about while walking my dogs and listening to the book was that I realized how if I wrote a book about a walk it would be about 2 pages long for the whole thing. This woman is waxing on about the forest talking to her, spirit animal dreams, becoming one with the bark kind of thing (not ever my favorite thing so I am fast forwarding it a lot to just hear about the actual hike) - but laughing about her description -"aching quiet of the snow with purple shadows from the mountains wrapping the mountain..." and my own way of describing something "some snow and rocks that were cold" -why I am not a travel writer.