The Trek of Three Teenagers
In the car as we drove the few minutes from our house to the lake, they talked of cars; what kind they wanted, driving permits, insurance and repair speculations, and jobs. Their words fell strange–though welcome–on my ears, for they have been coming to see Granny and Pappy in our home here in the San Bernardino Mountains since they were babies, often spending extended periods of time with us. Talk in days gone were of alphabet building blocks, tiny sleds and boots in the winter time, and tricycles in the summer.
I would drop them off at the lake in an area they had chosen, and when they called in the late afternoon, I would pick them up, or they might even hike the couple of miles to the house.
I watched as they turned from me and began their trek to a spot they had in mind.
It was symbolic–their leaving. A picture, a draft of their young lives, of their adventures, and of their futures.
I extended my lens to see them better.
. . . for soon they will be lost from me.