quiet

“Yeah, it is quiet, except for the mosquito buzzing in my ear.” So said Kay, as she and I walked the forest path near my son and his friend. As usual, I’d forgotten to pack bug spray.

Our trail took us past several small lakes. Some rippled, some sprouted grass like an unshaved chin, and then we found a mirrored pool.

Kay and I perched on rocks in the sun while the guys worked their way around the pond to a cliff far above black water. They spoke back to us across stillness; no one had to raise a syllable. A blue butterfly landed on Kay’s sneaker. It matched her shoe’s stripes. I tried to sneak a picture, but the pretty insect flitted away.

My son’s friend lifted a rock, a heavy one, while standing still on top of the cliff. “Ready?”

My son, now below Kay and me by the water said, “Go.”

His friend dropped the boulderish stone and it whapped the surface, spray shooting every direction. “Whoa,” he said. “I didn’t expect it to hit so hard.”

We continued on after our hike to the observatory topping McKenzie Pass. Sky blue as a deep voice, mountains commanding sky unashamed at near nakedness, and a striped critter scouting for morsels. These we enjoyed.