Whoa, September already!

Kristin and Pete traveling along a beach in San Diego.
Here's something I wrote a few years back:
I am enchanted with the earth. It is a wonderful thing to me. I enjoy exploring it and discovering new things about it.
When I was a smaller person, the soil of the globe held a fascination for me. As a child I let my feet grow painfully cold in order that I might enjoy longer the cool and slightly damp earth in the springtime, especially delightful to the touch after being freshly tilled. It could be so easily shaped and patted, dug and trenched into villages for fantastic imaginative play. Only when the fingers and toes were too stiff from soil and cold would I give into the evening and go inside to bathe and warm up.
These gardens of dirt were very different from the teenage sandy shores. On the edges of lake and oceans, the heat of the late morning and early afternoon burned small sand crystals, embedding them into my feet as I made my way to the cooling and cleansing water. Little white flecks of persistent sand clung to my browned skin and I appreciated how quickly they would fly away when brushed, helping me maintain my sleek appearance.
There was the wonder and discovery of the mountain dirt—gray, clinging soot, kicked up by those traveling to or from somewhere on narrow paths, this dirt only turning to black ooze when wet at the edge of streams, or else transforming everywhere by the surprise of storm showers. This made it much more difficult for me to maneuver, both myself and mud.
And what of the sphere that slowly rocks the ocean? I can only address what I have experienced, and then only part.
A summer Youth trip to Zion’s Narrows in south Utah this year opened my eyes to a place that I had not previously seen or known.
Cold water chilled my toes as it soaked through my shoes and greeted my ankles. I tried to keep my balance on the slippery moss-slicked rocks. They are just below the surface at the beginning, but the current blurs their image and travel is difficult and slow. For this trip, up a living riverbed, two legs are not enough. A primitive third is adopted and immediately I was befriending an inanimate object—a stick!
My body quickly became used to walking three-legged and the water temperature was only noticeable as the level became progressively deeper. Clothing previously dry drank in the water and soaked my skin. Trying to stave off the initial soaking, I sought for sandbars at the base of the canyon walls that occasionally edged the water. Sometimes I skipped from side to side in effort through the water, that I might walk a short distance on dry land.
Soon, the adventure for me was focused on what lay ahead instead of underfoot. As the sun began to heat the narrowing and black-walled canyon, welcome water cooled and the splashing and swimming ahead became spontaneous. Turns and twists in the Virgin River bed, and subsequent canyon walls led me curiously ahead. The water deepened, as the canyon steepened and sky was a small blue ribbon overhead. It was difficult to hear someone speak because of the rush of water, but it didn’t matter, I was too absorbed and fully conscious of my adventure. Just going with another was sharing enough.
The day progressed on and the water and tedious work of walking soon began to tire me. I was so small, only a speck in that great gorge and rushing water, yet I felt so significant. Fatigue crept into my cold and wet body. I longed to climb in the river and let the current carry me back to the beginning. A fork off of the main canyon afforded me the opportunity to rest, eat and rejuvenate.
It was time to go back, and now there was energy enough to do it. The exhilaration from the major excursion accomplished filled me with new energy. I began to use my rod as a vaulting pole and propelled myself quickly along the land and water, this time with the current instead of against. My feet were springs and my spirit was high.
This came to an abrupt and temporary halt when one slippery rock let go too soon and tipped me into the waiting water. Face first and gasping, I came up to the surface and tried to visually find my bearings. Cold water shocked my system and I consciously calmed myself, laid back, and floated with the current, mentally checking myself. I still had my stick, and my shin hurt!
After this assessment, I clumsily climbed out, checked the damage foreleg (I still carry the scar), and began again. I finished my adventure a bit more cautiously, but enjoyed it just as intently as before. Occasionally, I went back into the river purposefully and rode out the current, down the slippery rock beds into pools of deep water.
As I reached the final point, which was originally for me the beginning, I was surprised that I was reluctant to let go of my stick, even when I no longer needed it. Tired, calm and content, I made my way to a resting spot to think about my latest and most satisfying adventure with the earth.