Wandering
by Old Man with a Pen
Copyright© 2023 by Old Man with a Pen
He said, “Wandering around the backcountry is good for ones soul...
As long as one remembers.”
“Eeeuw!” she exclaimed.
He laughed, “Wrong rememberer.”
“Oh. Well...”
“The good parts. Remember the good parts.”
She thought, “You mean the whisper of the slight breeze in the understory brush?”
“Uh huh.”
“The flit and song of that surprising flash of crimson, the cardinal?”
He motioned, “And?”
“The brilliant orange and splash of yellow of the autumn leaves and the tan of the grass at the edge of the game trail. The multitude of grays in the granite cliffs, the smattering of impossible clinging green on the canyon walls and the distant rumble of the silvering waterfall in the gorge. The brown of the grizzly in the river valley catching leaping salmon and the near burnt black of the elk that was grazing the moss on the waters edge?”
“Yes.”
“He had a magnificant set of antlers.”
“That, too.”
“That slash of white as the mountain sheep we disturbed bounded over the ridge?”
His smile lit their world, “That was unexpected. How about the light grey of the descending mist?”
“As we were hiking into it?” She asked.
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