Hers has been up a cliff.
Sam is a mountain guide. She writes hanging from a rope on a granite wall with nothing but cloud under her boots. In a blizzard on the ridge, hood up. On a rope bridge, with white cranes going by underneath. In a hut by lantern light, with two hikers leaning over to ask what it says. Her journal lives in a pack with a lot of wet rope.
It has never once been saved for anything.

