Yosemite is a part of me. Sometimes I feel the pull of the Merced, or the Tuolumne in my veins. Sometimes I smell the hot, dry, pine needle air of summer when I'm nestled into bed in the depths of winter. Sometimes I am transported to a place in my heart where my hands rest on sun-warmed granite.
These things are ingrained inside me as surely as my mother's face, or my brother's laugh. I am drawn there, and I often feel as though my life is measured by the rhythmic draw the place has on me. Sometimes in life it is stronger than others. It waxes, it wanes, but it is always present.
Thank you for indulging me Bear. I love you. Happy Anniversary.