The sun had risen through the thick of the fog. I heard his old coffee pot fill with piping hot coffee that didn’t last long. I looked out the window and I found a spot to look through the thick fog and saw the fishermen in yellow coats that sat in their boats. I heard the loons chatter back and forth to each other. The moments like these made me realize how beautiful life is.
I packed my bag with sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and two grape juice boxes. My grandpa, who I called puppy, handed a fishing pole to me and off we went on our two minute walk to my favorite place; the climbing rocks. When we got there, puppy helped me up because the moss and rocks were slick from morning dew. At the top we sat and talked. We talked about nothing…but to the two of us, it was everything. After a half hour or so we head back to the camp, holding hands and continuing our conversation. This was the most perfect moment when life was beautiful.
When I go back to the camp, I still wake to the sun, the fresh coffee and the fog. The fishermen are out in their boats eager to catch dinner and the loons conversation act as their peaceful music. My snack is packed and I take my fishing pole, as I did before, but something has changed. I find myself silent on my walk. The moss and rocks are slick. When I get to the top, I am speechless. Glancing at the pond, I start to tear up at the memories that I hold within the mountains that surround me. For 13 years I had a best friend that taught me how to grow, live, and love. I still have my grandpa, but in a different form. He is still here with me, even though I walk to the climbing rocks alone.
