Why do I like the outdoors? That is a good question with a long answer, but probably the best short answer is because my dad likes the outdoors. He likes the outdoors because my grandpa liked the outdoors. Last week my Grandpa passed away. He is this first person in my life, that I have been close to, to die. I was well prepared for the news because his mind has been gone for a couple years now. None the less, it left me with a lot to think about. Being the Transcendental that I am, I thought a lot about nature. The wild is a funny thing. You can go outdoors to take a million pictures, bring home a harvest, or carry away some precious stones, but you will always leave a little bit of yourself too. My grandpa spent his entire life taking boy scouts on float trips, camping outings, and hikes, all the while leaving little bits and pieces of himself out in the woods. He was scratched by the same Ozark thorns, woke to the same frost, and took shelter from the same rain. His memory will live on for me in those things.

Tangled up in brambles

Frozen in the grass

Falling from the clouds

Clearer than glass.

One more reason

I have now,

To go out of doors

Where the rain drips from my brow.

Dripping to where we all must go

Down to the ground.