Monday, 10 November 2014

You Never Really Leave a Place You Love

It had been years since I'd went to Schonchin Butte, and I hadn't seen the post in summer since leaving Lava Beds National Monument 10 years prior. This excursion would be diverse. Uncommon. As opposed to seeing the post blinded by its shades in the nippy spring or fall air, I'd see it in all its superbness, its square glass eyes looking into the separation with a warm breeze whooshing past.

I likewise hadn't been once more to Lava Beds since Gary, my guide and the head of translation, passed away. Printed on his burial service request to God book was the quote, "You never truly and really leave a spot you adore.

I affixed my bicycle to the trailhead sign and recognized the US hail's unlucky deficiency over the post. Recently, electrical storms avoided the landmark, and I trusted that Ranger George, whom I saw at the guest focus, would tell somebody I was going by the post if lightning appeared impending. Dreams ethereally floated through my psyche of park officers wildly hunting down me to staff the post while inauspicious mists shot at the stratosphere.

Unrealistic considering, I chided myself. You can't go rearward and remember your eminence days, regardless of the extent to which you need to. This is a goodbye visit, a period to grapple with change. It's a period to reconnect to the Modoc Spirits, to attempt to feel some of Gary's vicinity, to say farewell to Schonchin, Lava Beds, and the Park Service.

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