A week later, I went again. It was another special date for me, because it was 35 years to the day after my dad died of a heart attack at age 48 after exerting himself on a bike going 200 feet up a hill. I left my camp by the big rock at seven in the morning after watching a gorgeous sunrise that poured pink and red and gold and everything in between over the mountains above me. |
|
|
|