We are in the Huachuca Mountains. We have spent a couple of days here and accomplished our climb to Miller Peak. We have a casual day planned, heading back down the mountain.
Here is the rest of the story, which is in three other parts:
DF has heard an owl in the night. She tells me that she is grateful that it came. She says that it felt big. It had a big sound, “I’m here. Anybody else here? Who, who?”
After my climb out of the tent, I stand stiffly and take in the wilderness. These trees all tell a story; it is their history they speak of. It is like a mother’s stretchmarks or an old soldier’s wounds. These are tangled, bent, burled and shaped by their lives. The rings have a tale, too. There is an old hulk with a twisted trunk near the watercourse. The twist says that it had had a ley energy shape it. When the fires came, they burnt it to be like a barber pole.