May Day! And no maypoles in sight.
Once upon a time, about 12 years ago (a lifetime), I was here. Not necessarily here exactly, but pretty close.
When I was 10, I committed the number 41 (or was it 37?) to memory. Although it seems like everything here has changed in the last 12 years (how can ancient preservation sites change?) here I am again nestled in the fallen boulders against the cliff above campsite 41. I glanced around for the teardrop shaped rock behind which hides the secret cave in which I lost my Lion King watch. It was purple. I can’t find it. Maybe a rock fell on it, or a pile of dirt in a torrential downpour. (Highly unlikely in such a desert.) I hate to think my 10-year-old’s memory and the years since have become warped in some way.
This is a rediscovery, it seems, of parts of me, and I’ve already realized how much I’ve changed in 12 years. I’ve developed a sense of fear, and I’ve become a bit more jaded.
What happened to the little girl I was when I was 10? Maybe I’ll find her here, where I left her.