The only other vehicle in the rain-empty parking lot for the Rocky Gorge on Monday, June 8th, belonged to a man who lives on the border of Massachusetts, not all that far from where we were. He was with his sister, a mother of two children, 21 and 13, who lives with their father in the very area where we discovered one another. Their family, originally from Massachusetts, had moved to New Hampshire some while ago.

They carried with them their father's ashes and they were there for a purpose. Their father loved the mountains, as did their mother. The mother was in grave ill health and would likely soon follow their father in death. They meant to scatter her ashes as well, in the manner that they planned for their father. Two other siblings don't live nearby. They asked if it offended us, the prospect of their taking this opportunity, in the rain, with no others about, to return their parent's ashes to a natural setting, and we assured them otherwise.

They meant to scatter the ashes in the lake that lay placidly unperturbed beyond the Rocky Gorge, surrounded by mountains and forests, in tribute to their father's exaltation of unspoiled and tranquil natural surroundings. We informed them of the trail that lay beyond, that could give them pleasure in contemplating those same surroundings, while they were there. They hadn't been aware of its existence. Nor were they aware that a short drive away Sabbaday Falls, an exquisite natural resource whose beauty trumped even this one we were at, they should not miss. Intrigued, they said they would drive over and have a look for themselves.

They set out on the trail before leaving for Sabbaday Falls, taking the opposite direction to the one we were taking, and we met half-way through the circuit, stopping once again to pass pleasantries. When we had ourselves completed the trail, no doubt taking far more time than they, far younger than us, had done, we drove over to Sabbaday Falls. There, again, scant few vehicles in the parking lot, though the rain had eased nicely.

We set off on the trail leading to the falls, enjoying the atmosphere and the views and when we reached the falls, took photographs, marvelled repeatedly at nature's endless repertoire of natural beauty, and ascended the first of the scaffolding-stairs leading to the top. Halfway up, down came our two friends, brother and sister, beaming happily. "I didn't even cry", she called out to us, soon informing us that they had released their father's ashes up at the top of the waterfall. "The water turned grey", she said, laughing, no doubt relieved that their bitter-sweet mission had been accomplished, the anguish of the final farewell done with.

"That was a moment's worth of grey", I assured her; the immense rush of the water tumbling over the grey granite speedily washing the ashes before it, turning everything back once again to its crystal clarity. We lingered awhile, talking; they were eager to exchange their version of life's happenstance with us. Affection flowed freely between us, and finally we bid one another adieu.

We went on to continue our slow and brief peregrination of the area so far from our own home, yet now so familiar to us, to appreciate its unique presentation and environmental flavour. Jack and Jill, still wearing their little raincoats ran before us in all directions, intrigued by all that presented as so new to them. Soon we came across other people, making their way up the trail toward the falls, as we proceeded to descend, the day's commune with nature coming to a close.