CHAPTER 1
Far from the hidden path, I wrote a minor but very important part of the story of my life on sandstone. But over time, strong winds have swept my story, and now it’s forgotten. I also engraved several lines of the adventure of my life on the front of the mountain above the valley. The rocks have eroded, and very few lines of my story remain. It’s a narrative of simpler times when I was young, carefree, and flew by the seat of my pants. I didn’t have a care in the world, and life was my oyster.
Luckily, I rewrote the best parts of my story in granite, and it has endured the elements of nature and life. I tried to recreate experiences that shaped my life, but it was never the same thing. The one real constant in my life is time. It is pointless for me to repeat what has been because it is impossible to live life backward. My days begin as a simple second in time and space, which turns into minutes, then rapidly spirals into hours. And then, before I know it, my days morph into weeks, and weeks morph into months, and months morph into years.