And on what became his first attempt to conquer the Mountain,

The boy quickly soured.

His father thought it best to hike a few trails near the wooded base,

no climbing, no mountain top today.

But why? protested the youngster.

Though the answers did not satisfy,

As the question asked was not in search of an answer.

The pair spent the remainder of the day breathing clean, pine scented air,

marveling at ancient streams cut by the melting snow,

and cataloguing the various animals they encountered throughout the day:

a handful of blacktail deer, red tailed hawks and scrubs jays, squirrels and a porcupine.

On the return trip home, to the stamped neighborhoods and yellow street lights,

the boy sat content yet unsatisfied as they motored south.

Nothing in his ordinary town compared to glory of the Mountain and the life living on it.

(Later in life, when his heart allowed him to see it, he appreciated all the more his first visit to the Mountain.

For he finally understood how his father, his untrained and unprepared father,

Lacking rope, tents, and hiking boots, still desired nothing more than to give his son what he wanted.

In truth, no father can give more than they have in hand.

Years in the making, this new awareness of a father’s love for his son, was the first gift the Mountain gave the boy.)