We walk along the trail, my dad and I.
Ahead is my brother, boisterous as ever.
The meaning of this place is lost in him.
We walk in step, in silence.
Each of us being in the same place, but far apart from eachother.
Then, I reach out to him.
I take my fathers hand, like I used to when I was little.
I tell him what I am thinking, we discuss.
Our voices are quiet, as if not wishing to disturb this space.
We have been here before.
These woods are not new.
These thoughts are not strangers.
Many have come here before us.
Many have thought, shared, and explored here.
Spirituality has been found here.
Minds have run over the mysteries of this place.
Like many hands, rubbing a trees bark smooth.
When voices lay quiet, the world erupts beyond silence.
This birds chirp their ever wistful melodies, from their perches in the trees.
The river continues it's ceaseless roar, far below us in the canyon.
Every living thing, stretched out, connecting.
Forming a complex web of being.
Every thing in perfect balance.
This place is sacred.
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