We traveled down the canyon to the place we had both been as teenagers. So much more dangerous then. Willing to take risks. We talked of broken bottles, scraped skin, fear, remembering fear of how high that place was. Scaling cliffs, wanting acceptance at all costs. Hand in hand and separately we went. Stopping at the cliff that used to have water. Now all that was left was the deep and ominous pool we used to watch daredevils and fools slide into off the narrow smooth, high rock, we stood looking down at it silently and spoke of past adventures and stories there, wondering who had put the metal hooks in the steep face of the cliff to swing into the deep pool, and pondered how they had gotten there, from the top--or from the bottom? The sun was shining, the sky so blue with one lonely gratuitous cloud over the mountain--for us. We gathered rocks and threw them into that pool, so far down--so far away now. The loud clunk of their weight and surprisingly loud smack on the surface--to sink down to God knows where. How deep is that pool? We took guesses but neither of us really knows. Down the path it was lush and green, the road that had been broken apart narrowed in what was left of it. you and me. hearing the story from your lips after all these years that there was an earthquake in the '70s--never knowing this as a young girl. That explains the old rusty cars at the bottom of the canyon. The road went somewhere and still does--whats left of it. I realized I was afraid and wanted to turn back, wanting to bring some type of protection to return another day. Protection against what was wild. I wanted deep in my heart something to look forward to. We will go back and we will linger. We will throw rocks off steep cliffs into deep pools of water and wonder how far down they go--you and me. Together.