Blowin' in the Wind

July 1966, Mount Cheminis, Quebec:

The ashes of our newborn barely filled the palm of my hand. They were powdery soft to the touch, delicate, and when scattered to the breeze, they drifted as a tiny grey cloud, carrying with them the bittersweet, desperate yearnings for a life barely begun.

July 2016, Mount Pisgah, North Carolina:

I am old now, but still venture to the high country whenever I am able, for it is there that I am reminded of the eternity of Nature, the fragility of life, and that my child still floats, forever free, on the mountain wind.