I hear the call of the mountains of my youth suddenly now discovering that I am sixty-two and my muscles are stiff and my tendons ache yet I still long for the miles winding through forest and above timberline.
I will go there and if I do not return then so much the better for what better place to rest forever than beneath a giant Redwood tree or sitting silently next to a glacial lake while the autumn shadows warn of the end and the only thing left to do is crawl into the tent and a dream wondering if it will last forever never to wake again.
