We had been here before ... maybe two years ago. We used to come here most weekends ... but lately ... not so much. Other interests and circumstances kept us away. Several good trails into the mountains started here.

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?”