On Father’s Day
At early morning, the lone antelope leapt away and vanished into an endless field of sage and hill. A fox had been digging at the prairie dog’s hole but unsuccessfully could not reach his prey. He retreated upon seeing Hayagriva, Marshall and I so close to the area of his work. Then the prairie dog popped his head out and gave a squeak sound, perhaps to tease the fox or to greet us in his own way.
Since it is Father's Day, I called my brother, Jerry, in Canada, asking if he could forward at least one photo of our deceased dad. Technology, being what it is, doesn't always deliver the goods. I tried to conjure the image of that well-rounded individual who was my Dad. In my memory banks, I thought of him and how he helped shape my life. But I had to settle for thought, over a picture of him.
So I decided at the crack of dawn to walk today in his honour. For the most part the trek was great, however, since leaving the Yampa River near Maybell, it has become a dry land—desolate looking. The sun gets intense. I'm told that the more you go west, the more desert becomes a reality.
One man in a jeep saw me, drove to the store and picked up some water for road delivery to the guy in orange. A state trooper also pulled over to check and see if I was alright. That's the first authority to see me and stop, while on duty, in days.
These two guys were being generous. They were being like dads.
May the Source be with you!
P.S. The picture finally came through.