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Saturday, September 26, 2015

the giving mountain

Leaving my office Wednesday I stopped stone in the parking lot at a light breeze playing in my hair, then made an executive-style decision: quick, absolute.

Thirty minutes later I had retrieved a boy from one place, a dog from another, and we three had ascended a mountain, our mountain.

All I had in mind was the weather and a walk, but at our arrival we found a wedding being set up, the couple and their dearest come to celebrate their joy, their love, their mountain.

Boy and dog headed down trails in front of me, took in sweeping views, climbed stone steps with an agility I no longer possess until at Little Pinnacle we were met by a row of backs and a board marked with the names of falcons and tally marks.

Oh, it's a bird count, your grandfather would have loved this, I said to the boy, and one of the backs turned around to become a man who asked who grandfather was, and when I said his name another back turned and became a man who said I knew him, if it were not for him, I would not be out here today, he did so love to bird.

And so it was that the boy, the dog, and I lingered on Little Pinnacle with the backs, sharing their mountain, our mountain, while one told me funny bits about my father and another fed bits of sandwich to my dog.

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