Two years after my brother’s death from cancer I’ve learned that time is the master of all disguises. Continue reading His Part
As a boy, our family of five would load into an old copper colored Chevy station wagon and head to the mountains on summer Sundays. Below moss covered trees, we hiked along creeks that carved narrow volcanic gorges all the way to the mighty Columbia River.
Summers were separated in two. Time in the mountains and time along the Pacific coast. Steep green wind whipped slopes along the ocean. The sun slowly breaking through the clouds. By noon when friends my age were still at home rubbing sleep from their eyes, I was four hours into fun filled adrenaline adventure, walking barefoot across the toe numbing Pacific sand for miles as waves rolled relentlessly at my feet.