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.

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.

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.