Last week my son and I took a little hike on the hill as the sun set in the west. He had a blast, so much so, he continually ran ahead of me to see what lie just around the next corner. I followed, a slower heavier example of humanity. I even told him once or twice to stop and wait for me.
I told him as we walked between the power poles that stand on the hill like medieval towers protecting the city below, that I used to play on that very hill everyday when I was a child. I'm sure I wasn't up there everyday, but I did spend a lot of time on that hill. I knew where the deer trails were and where my friends had constructed makeshift forts...it's what boys do growing up by a mountain.
I don't know if he was impressed by my stories of my youthful adventures. He seemed interested. He was, however, more interested in the trail we hiked, and the sun as it set, and his ability to see the entire town where we lived spread out like a carpet before him.
So much of the mountain is the same. Of course, there are changes. The sagebrush have grown, died, and grown again. There are less trails than there were in my day due to the city stopping motorcycles from crisscrossing the mountain continually during the summer. I have a theory about motorcycles and kids these days. The motorcycles have been replaced by video games.
My son continued to run on the mountain. I feel bad now that I told him to wait for his father. I should have ran next to him, but I was trying to take pictures that will remember the moment. I hope I never stop him from running and exploring and experiencing the magic and wonder that is life itself.