Can I still see it new, feel it new, when time and again was it the same rain that fell light and cold on my face, and the same tall grasses that soaked my jeans and leather boots?
I reach for my camera then put it away. I have taken the same before. This is not a child forever changing and growing though I have amassed as many photos of the mountain as I did my child in his early years.
How do we know it is time to move on when the land calls us so strongly, the quiet muses tempting and taunting in the song of the late season trickle of the creek and twinkling light of the plump Aspen leaves. If you listen, you’ll know. She is not calling us. Perhaps, only perhaps, she tells us to leave. She too would rather dance alone.
A tingle like nearby lightening when riding over the Divide. Too close, and exposed. Without protection of the trees.
We could run back for shelter. Where it is safer, it is known.
Or hunker down in the saddle and move on.
Even when we don’t know where “on” may be.
Such a wide and wild world. I wouldn’t want it otherwise.