UNCLE OTAY

There he stood across the two lane road and high above, portly yet well-muscled, avuncular and decidedly verdant under April’s ambivalent skies, rain one day

and golden sunshine the next. We were welcomed like a couple of errant nephews truant from school and eager to try out a new slingshot or cheap binoculars under 

the friendly gaze of uncle mountain without the threat of stifling rules or stern adult oversight. His only mandate was to be safe, to wander freely, to take some chances when he might not be looking, to stick together here in his magic garden 

of meadowlarks, swirling hawks, Tecate cypress spilling down distant ravines, cougar prints embedded in mud, the scary but exciting possibility of rattlesnakes lurking now that weather is warming, wildflowers bursting like fireworks everywhere you look 

and huge hunks of granite guiding a secret waterfall as it tumbled wildly, noisily into 

a deep chasm engraved into uncle’s almost infinite depths. And to be enchanted often in our wandering.

After roaming with all senses deliciously ablaze all day he asked us only to thank

the many denizens of his kingdom for graciously accepting our presence here

and to please close the front door quietly as we stepped off his green slopes away 

from silent meadows, stacks of boulders and his uncanny calm, his soothing quiet 

and into our waiting car parked along the two lane road. Removing our boots

and packs but not our joy, our well nourished hearts, our shimmering sturdy bodies weary, ready now for rest, we looked back and up once more and in the settling light 

of dusk we could just make out our uncle’s wink, his easy smile as growing darkness kissed his balding crown.