His clothes hung like a weary apology. His jacket looked shabby, weather worn, and dusty. By his apparel, it was obvious that the old timer hunted. He had sought a variety of treasures in his life. When young, he searched for adventure and wisdom. As he grew older, he explored the legend of the fountain of youth and traveled to distant lands to find El Dorado. He excavated archaeological sites and even searched for the mysteries of life entombed in the ancient pharaohs’ pyramids in Egypt. He had come across a few bits and pieces of gold and gems but never accumulated enough to make him rich. Though he had been a part of exciting discoveries of antique civilizations, his meager rewards never surpassed his aggregation of knowledge and experience.

            So here he stood, brought by fate at the end of his years to a rocky canyon devoid of any evident human habitation; a place where crags, crevices and holes had been carved and shaped by the passing winds. Streaks of pink spread across the evening sky. The old hunter stretched out on the ground propping his back against a large rock. His campfire roasted a wild rabbit caught earlier. Swirls of thick smoke drifted upwards.

            The meat smelled good over the open fire. The odor reminded him of how when small, he and his father used to barbecue their first slain elk on cold autumn evenings. Pangs of hunger gripped him. He rose, strolled over to his camping gear and pulled out an enamel teapot. He filled it with water from a nearby brook and placed it on the outer embers of the dying fire. Embers always made the best brew.

            “Nothing like some tea to accompany a good meal,” the old man said to the canyon walls. “Just seems to hit the spot.”

            He yawned and extended his arms into the endless space to ease the cramp in his muscles. “I’ve walked a long way. After supper I’ll try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day. I’ll worry about being lost when tomorrow comes.”