Beautiful Seasons
In talking to these old friends, I found myself saying more than once – my god, that was a beautiful season. What times we had. Not all good, of course, but on balance the beauty is the thing that shone through. The light glinting off the waves of the river, not the murkiness of the water beneath.
Aloft and Ahead
Time is different in the air, also more expansive. It must be something about my body being close to the clouds, about being suspended and propelled at the same time.
What We Won’t Know
All of us went up that hard trail, saw the world from an alpine bowl that held marmots and pikas and watermelon snow. We didn’t ask each other’s stories nor did we tell our own.
Up and Down and Found
“Fire in the hole,” came a child’s gleeful voice as she held the remote control launch device in her hand and watched the pad holding her rocket intently.