Keyhole Sink Trail
The short walk takes me through pine and a grove of aspen; the bare white trees appearing stark against the evergreen. The snow is nearly gone, remaining only in deep patches of shade. Dark mud is left behind and the ground sinks beneath me. A child would relish the squishy feeling of shoes in earth, but I find myself stepping on stones and vegetation to avoid the experience. I carefully navigate icy spots that someone much younger than I would purposely slide upon. I prefer the areas of the trail covered in pine needles, soft but firm under my feet, or rocks providing a more solid path.
Just off the trail, an old grandfather tree is surrounded by a thick bed of pine needles. I hug the tree like a child and though I am grown my arms reach only halfway around its thick trunk. Many of the nearby skeletal aspen are easily encircled by only my hand. The trees offer collectables for a child to gather: pine cones of various sizes, shapes and colors; fallen branches resembling dust brooms; leaves like translucent rice paper. At the end of the trail, a small natural pool offers up its own treasures. Tiny, snaillike crustaceans dot the water, suspended on and in icy layers. Oh what a find!
Perhaps the only thing more tempting to a child than these remarkable little shells is the group of boulders begging to be climbed. They jut out of the earth between the grasses. The rocks are spaced just the right distance to jump from one to another and are large enough to climb like a mountain to be conquered. Crevices invite further exploration.
Other tumbled, stacked and strewn rocks dot the landscape. The vertical stone immediately surrounding the water is smooth, large and intact. Thousand year old petroglyphs decorate the rock face, evidence of those who came long before. Their time, as is mine, was short on this earth. The trees, the earth, the rock remain. Only the scratches on stone are left of the people. This place is still wild; the stone significantly older than the writing upon it.
I am small and so very young on creation’s time scale. I stand at the base of the rock and gaze up toward the trees and endless azure sky. It is good to change one’s perspective from time to time. I am a child finding wonder in all that is to be discovered; a respectful and awed witness to the magic this site holds.