We’ve carried this book around for a year not wanting to finish, not wanting the story to end. It’s been with us to Scotland, Italy, Belize, the south western United States. It’s battered and torn. Cover curled on both sides. Pages soaked in bacon grease and bug juice (from the night we used it as a fly swatter). It would be an understatement to say this book is loved. But all things must come to an end.
On our last morning, during a misty sunrise, we finally finished.
“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”
― Edward Abbey