The why

River Driftwood

Zion National Park

A battered old stump, polished after it's long trip down the river canyon from banging on the rocks. How's that for a metaphor?

Something drove me to do the Subway hike I spoke of in the last post. Not just the hike itself, but the unsettling need to do it now. Not wait until next year, or next time. This was the time.

I'm not a religious man or someone who believes in a higher power. I'm happy for those who do, and jealous of the peace it brings them, but I can't seem to latch onto that thought. My peace comes from a different source. It started the first time Denise and I visited the west and has grown stronger with each trip and each year that passes.

Maybe it's just the distance from home or the difference in the scenery, but I find that just about the only time I'm really in touch with my thoughts is when I'm alone with the red rocks of the west. It's too simple to call it being at peace, it's more than that. It's a time and a feeling of being somewhere I belong.

I truly believe, deep down and sincerely, that the rocks talk to me when I'm with them, and that they listen when I talk back to them. They share their knowledge with me and make me a better person. Being with them alone in the wilderness, or walking among them on this river hike was the reason I had to go. To think through some things, and to get the rocks advise.

Some sit in a church, or a temple, or a mosque. I sit on a rock.

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