Most likely, my father had his fatal heart attack on this path back in 2004. Every so often, I drive down to walk the path. I don't think this is a morbid exercise at all. I think of it as a ritual of recollection, as stepping-stones into his past and my future. Father's Day, in this case, had been the day before, so I was paying my respect.He died on the way up the steep trail after fishing with one of his oldest, dearest friends.
If and when one must go, that's not so bad, don't you think?
The day was foggy, but glorious still. I really wanted to free dive, but I resisted the impulse. A little too much energy working out there for a solo foray. And yet . . . .
