It was one of those wilderness moments.
In May, as we hiked up to Weverton Cliffs, east of Harpers Ferry, W.V., the drizzle began to taper off, and the sky grew lighter.
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Trees parted to reveal a rocky promontory with a dramatic drop-off below and a sweeping view beyond. The jade hills of West Virginia seemed lit from within; the Potomac River, swollen with rain, grumbled and surged toward Washington.
I stood there, slightly out of breath, drinking it in.
Then my phone rang. “Maureen,” said the screen.