Aging with a special spot of land is a big deal.
My favorite spot is a stretch of tiny creek that runs through my backyard. It’s fed by the snow that falls high above in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Wet winters makes it move fast and gurgle boastfully until late July. Drier winters cause the stream to slow and duck under the bed of rocks. Aspen trees sprang up along its banks; once little green sticks, they now provide colorful shade from the Nevada sun. Their yellow leaves make whispering sounds late into the evening.
I’ve sat there in the same spot for over 25 years. My grandkids built a dam out of sand, sagebrush and old boards they found behind the garage. The backwater produced a little pond that was all of 2 feet deep, but it brought hours of water fights for them and years of pleasurable memories for me.
Two of my faithful shepherds are buried across the creek. Today, I can lay on my back with my feet in the sand and almost feel them nuzzle in beside me.
Decades ago, Sherry and I held the hands of her father, Jack, and gingerly walked him across the two-board bridge to get him to the other side. As a proud stroke victim, I believe Jack was fully aware of the significance of his accomplishment.
Tonight, I will return to my favorite spot and dream of delightful tomorrows.