Memorial Day

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It was wet again on Memorial Day. Roaming showers. Spectacular sky.
We didn't do anything special. Isaiah and Jeremiah had one or another friend over all weekend. Isaiah has a new XBox game that has kept them enthralled. The dogs have been systematically finding weaknesses in their prison--I mean "enclosure"--outside, so we spent part of the day chasing them down and repairing.
In the evening I took a drive. Lidia had wanted to go, but by herself. Since I had to take one of the friends home, and Jeremiah wanted to go along, she opted out.
So it was me and Jeremiah. We dropped the friend off, stopped at a Mexican store for Mexican pop--can't beat guava--and drove up to the flats.

There's this magic road I know--Horse Springs Coulee Road--that lifts you out of the present into the Old West.

Sagebrush flats and great open spaces, a scope of distance that pulls you out of yourself and restores perspective.
Reminders of those who were here before you, and of the continuous flow of life.
Reminders of that which passes away and that which lasts.
We came back down into the valley and headed for home as the sun peeked out from beneath the clouds for a brief moment. Back in our pasture the mares and their foals, and the two Holstein steers, were living their lives.

Life for the steers will be relatively short; longer, I hope, for the horses. But that's human talk. What is life but now?

The mountain was still there, shining in the sun, and one of the pair of swallows building a nest in our shed flashed past. Does a mountain ever want to fly? Does a swallow ever want to last forever?

Silly questions, I suppose. But one thing I know: swallows will come and swallows will go, but the mountain will still be there, heedless of passing swallows, passing showers, and the passing of time.

Seems to me that's a good thing to remember.