Quixotic mission; I am scouring the mountains and the riverbeds
Outside Cle Elum with my brother and my sister. We are looking for
The places where we camped when were kids some fifty years ago.
Our memories have become fuzzy. Rivers run in different beds,
And advocates for wilderness have filled the former access
Roads with fallen trees, and berms, and stones. We have to walk,
To stumble, bloodied, toward where we once simply drove, and,
Reaching where we think we might been before, we have to try
To recognize these places, though they're wholly changed. The past,
Which having failed to remain fixed, even inside our minds, has been
Erased from these surroundings. Our search is quixotic. We should
Give up and go home