As I write this post, I’m perched on an old tree stump halfway up a steep hillside filled with damp, leafy, foliage and tall oak and sycamore trees. With apologies to my wife, I’m enjoying infrequent puffs on a cheap cigar as well. The cigar serves two important and satisfying purposes. First, it keeps mosquitoes away better than deet, and I made my faustian bargain years ago that I’ll take my chances on a rare cigar puff over the chemicals in bug spray every time. Second, and most satisfying, it reminds me of hunting with my father and grandfather.

As I get older, and time becomes even more fleeting and precious, it’s the little things that don’t cost much that I seem to value most. Like sitting for hours in the forest, alone, enjoying the crisp breeze, and the sounds of the leaves as the light wind rustles through.

I enjoyed countless such moments with my Pop and grandfather growing up. We would sit quietly for hours, uttering few words, but when spoken they had the feel of time itself standing still.

But of course time knows no favorites, and continues it’s silent trek forward. As much as we wish it weren’t so, it’s as it should be. We all have to make our own mark, and our own memories, while still paying small but enduring tributes to those who came before and shaped us into who we are now and what we value.

Mosquitoes are back. Time for another silent, misty, draw. And solitude.

D. James Clark

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