When my Uncle passed away earlier this month, I drove to Boise, Idaho for the funeral. On the way I passed a sign pointing to the City of Rocks. It has been twenty five, maybe thirty years since I’d been there last.

Back when Uncle George was full of vigor, and I a child with no cares or worries. I couple of weeks later I went back to this special place to reminisce and remember my uncle.

The boulders spark my imagination just as they did when I was younger. I see giants resting in the earth, their backbones protruding for us mortal humans to climb upon. If you aren’t careful or show disrespect, the crevices will swallow you whole.

A summer rainstorm quickly drenches the landscape. I manage to set up a simple campsite before the rain falls like spraying bullets. In my tent I watch the flowers quench the water while remembering Dad’s accident from our previous time here…..

He was a much younger man then, younger than I am now, and full of reckless abandon. Riding a dirt bike fast and furious with his brother’s-in-law, much like Peter Fonda in the movie Easy Rider.

Then the accident happened, soft sand caused the bike to spill, and all I see is blood and screaming. Dad’s face was ripped wide open like an avocado before you eat it. He had to be transported over thirty miles
( maybe further) to the closet hospital.

It all ended well, and as the rain abates and the sun sets, I realize how fortunate I am to still have him in my life.

If nothing else, the sleeping giant boulders here clear my head and make one thing apparent :

“tell those that are important to you, that they are… You never know when it may be too late…”

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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