As we walk together for the first time,
Suspended high above the Feather River
On ancient architecture designed to carry
Logs and men towards a more prosperous future,
We wonder aloud about the wisdom of male bonding.
Two generations of brothers-in-law
Focused on the 12-inch metal grate
That separates us from the flowing water.
Surely my son is not going to float back beneath us,
And I am not going to look down towards the river.
Too late, as I take the visual plunge
And try to comprehend the enormity
Of loggers and pioneers, fathers and sons,
And the generations of genetic resonance
That now move our feet above the earth.
Why us, why here, why now?
As we use all 5 points of contact
To make our way down the last 200 feet
Of what vaguely resembles a trail,
I can feel how matter bends space
To discourage such foolhardy treks.
My son dismisses the last 30 feet,
As we scramble to the water's edge
To immerse ourselves in the clarity
That always surfaces in the minds of men,
When swimming together in unknown waters.
On the way back up the hill
We walk and laugh above my bobbing son,
And stop when we are most exposed
To admire the way water moves calmly
Towards its final resting place.