The climb was steep but the grass at the top was soft and you stretched out with your two sons and thought about the mountains ahead. And then, pretty soon,  you didn’t think about them anymore. You slept in that soft grass with the sun on your back and the breeze ruffling the hairs on the nape of your neck. I listened to your sputterings and whistles. And when you woke, you picked up that stick, and kept on keeping on and we followed you. Up and over and then down and up again.