When I was a boy there was a stream in a mountain valley where we used to play. Stones of many colors lined the streambed. They were rounded smooth like dinosaur eggs, and we pulled them from the clear waters to build childish dams and levees in the current. I will always remember the knife cold of the snow fed waters, the grains of sand between my toes, the pines that stood like sentinels on the ridges, and the sound of my mother's voice in the dusk, calling us back from play.

(fictionalized childhood memory based on Forest Falls)