Life is a River: Sitting on the Shore or Riding the Waves

I do not like dying. None of us do, I suppose. Every time someone or something we love dies, part of us dies, too.




Whenever I return to Yosemite, I want to see the places that I’ve come to love, but invariably they have changed in some way, and I can’t stop them from doing this. Happy Isles used to be a beautiful, wooded glen with cascading rivers running through, until the blast of air and tumbling boulders from a massive rockslide knocked most of the trees down and opened the glen up to sunlight.

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