Deep calls to Deep.

Wild calls to Wild.

Where have I heard that?  Did I read it somewhere?  Did someone speak it to me?  I’m sure I’m forgetting my source and not giving credit where it is due.

Last year I wrote the same thoughts in some other version.

When I say these words – Deep calls to Deep – I am thinking of my oldest son.

It’s written all over Bergen Hawkeye’s face.

 

 

 

His body language.

His grin.

His easy conversation with the folks at the ranch.

This boy feels at ease here.  Feels comfort and feels free to be wild.  (Not rowdy-wild, free-wild.)

And I know my boy needs this, like vitamin D and his daily servings of vegetables.

He needs the air and the freedom and the “yes, you may”.

 

 

 

The exploring and the edge of safe.

Maybe all boys need this. Maybe all children.  Maybe all humans.

And I’m guessing it takes different forms for different people.

For my son, for his heart and his design and his posture, the rugged west draws him in.  The landscape and the sweeping views, the terrain and the animals.  The access to explore and to find his own way, to make a path and to follow the ones he finds.

Deep calls to Deep.

I stood in awe and watched him expand, watched him come to a fullness of self in the mountain air.

Capable and curious.  

Exactly what twelve should look like.

 

 

 

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