-----------Childhood in Idaho ----- Aka Home on DeRange--------------------
Grandpa knew what every flower was named, every kind of bird and insect, all the animals, like they were neighbors he knew for a long time.
I'll always think of him when I see the north star, or hear old cowboy songs that he taught me, and the day we went horseback riding and he showed me a sweet water creek where you could drink right out of the ground.
The water tasted like malted clear ambrosia full of nutrients.
I have never had anything like it again.
Making my hands into a cup I drank again and again, then I held my water cup hands up to Merry Leg’s muzzle.
She snuffled up the water and then leaned her long neck down into the spring.
I thought about the holy grail, how the knights of King Arthurs court were always in search of it.
But perhaps they had it all along, all they had to do is make their hands into a cup.
Maybe this is why we put our hands together in this way when we pray.
Maybe I’ve found the fount of the holy grail here, and I can always drink from it, even at least in memory until I’m a very old crone.
I will spend my life searching the world, yet it’s something I already found when I was in the twilight of my childhood.
Grandpa snaps me out of my contemplation laughing in that distinct way of his.
Telling me to stop wool gathering, though he always was a dreamer too.