Read Part I, In search of the morel, here.
Read Part II, A beacon for those to come, here.
|Lichen-clad lava rock|
I was wearing sandals and shorts at the time and my exposed shins and feet felt very vulnerable. From that point forward during our hike, I became hyper-aware of every rustle in the grass, every chirp of insects. As we hiked on, I would stop and listen. "Did you hear something, Rick?" I would ask.
|Lichen paints the land|
But even in the eternal war for survival, there are quiet moments. Moments of great beauty. Moments that one can cling to, when finally and inevitably one succumbs. Brief eternities that serve to remind: although one's part in it is ended, the music continues... forever.
To be continued...