The other day, my husband and I hiked (and I use that term lightly–it’s probably more of a walk) to the Bonneville Shoreline Trail. The path curves around the mountain and allows for the best views through the canyon. Leaves fell around us from wind and age, orange and red flurries. We went past the old Concrete Jungle, where people used to be able to go and spray paint pictures and words and expressions of Logan. Now security cameras watch every move. The water from First Dam reflected the sky, all dark trees and orange sunset.
Since the sun started to tuck behind the mountains, we headed back to our car. On the way down the short switchback, we came across two men rummaging through rocks. One man held a large rock in his hand, speckled and worn.
I felt strange. We decided to hurry past them and not draw too much attention. What if the men planned to bash our heads with the rock? And also, why is that our first thought?
The man stopped us and said, “I’m collecting rocks that look like this.”
“Wow,” we said. “You’ll probably find a lot.”
We kept walking, and quickly, and I pictured the rock hurtling through the air to bash the back of my head. My husband said he pictured the same thing.
But the rock never flew. And we made it safely to our car.
Maybe some people really do just like to search for big rocks when it’s almost completely dark outside. Maybe. We all have our stuff.
And we all know Helicon West’s stuff is writing and reading and joining together for stories just like this–no definitive ending, but instead one that leaves reader’s wondering.