“Don’t say anything yet you two! This journey was amazing. Anyway, every night, whenever we felt like it, we pulled up to a sandy shore or rocky beach up a side canyon and threw our sleeping bags on the ground. My Dad would cook up a pot of grub, he used plants, roots, berries, whatever he could find around. Your Grandpa’s real good at that sort of thing you know—cooking and all.”
“Then,” Uncle Weed continued, “We would lie around the fire and tell about what we had seen, heard, touched, smelled, tasted and thought that day. Sort of like what we’re doing here. You might think that after a couple of weeks, you would run out of things to say, but you wouldn’t. Those two weeks could’ve been a thousand and you’d still want more.
Every time you would find a perfect view, you would turn around and find one twice as stunning. Then you would turn your head again and find something more breathtaking still.”