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I can’t tell you about the things I’ve seen.

Peaks stretching to all horizons, matching clouds step for step, recollections hidden in each valley.

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Each memory fits with one next drainage over, be they years apart or decades.  Sit on a ridge another minute and more details come out of the shadows.  Names match to peaks, the influence of one experience to another.

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That one.  Last month knee deep, hauling a boat over beaver ponds.

That one.  Four years ago, seeing big lakes for the first time in the rain.

That one.  Fourteen years ago, when I was four feet tall and miles were longer.

Now I understand.

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