When you hike, you must live with the wind. It is an invisible impetus, a friend or foe. It will tangle hair and tickle your nose, then turn around and cool your toes. It gets mad and roars, pushes me along ridges and passes, but it sighs and moans from protective canyons. It drives like a freight train one direction all day or slow dances with crows. Aspen trees quiver when it breathes, and sway when it seethes. It will keep you up all night, then pull an Irish goodbye. It will steal your hat, then kiss your cheek and wick your sweat.