I can't wait till I'm back at home again. . . (while singing "On the Road Again" of course). I am home and am glad to be. It was a fun trip, cut short by a funeral that celebrated a life well lived. Then Sunday was another packed full family day. Today, it's laundry. Wahoo. (Don't interpret any excitement there please.)
On my way to Paris for the funeral, I drove through the most beautiful canyon alive, Logan Canyon. I've driven it often, and loved it each time. Fairly close to Logan is a cave, so creatively named Logan cave. It is shut down now and closed over with a grid of iron. It has been for some time.
As I drove by it, I was admiring the pretty waterfallish-trickle down the rocks, under the road, and spilling into the river.
I realized that the cave was very much like my Grandpa. The cave is closed. No one can visit or explore its depths. No one can see the source of the clear water that appears. But the water still flows. It still runs down the mountain and brings life to many things in its path. It still enlarges the river and contributes to life.
Grandpa stream is still running, clear and cool. It is still feeding and nourishing. It is still very much alive. Though we can't see the source, we definitely know it is still there. And someday, that cave will reopen, and Grandpa will be with us again (or we'll be with him again, to be precise).