As days passed after my grandfathers death, I sat each evening gazing at Boney Mountain pondering and whispering to God; my head cluttered by life. Sleep beckoned me, but I was too taken by the mountains beauty against the blue sky. I searched each crevasse looking for nothing. Toggling between thoughts of my grandfather and the mountain, I was lost in memories, some recent, others long ago, until pleasantries of the mountain took me over. So, I wrote.