Went out trail viewing with Aunt Sonnie today. Greenhorn is closed (sorta, kinda, maybe - officially so, but locals hike it and say the washout that has the trail closed for another 12 months is actually passable, and yes, you can be fined $5000 for hiking on the trail anyway, but more likely it'll be a $150 fine, so go on Saturday when the rangers aren't out. At least, that's what the locals say...), so other trails became needed. We drove around for a bit, my looking at my phone to see what trails were coming up along the highway, Sonnie pointing out different houses, different roads, different mountains, different turns. She would tell me about who owned this house, and how they met, who owns that house, and how they met. She would tell me a story about this restaurant, or that lake.
At some point, fortunately quickly, I realized we were doing more than looking for trails for me to hike. She was telling me of important events in her life. She was sharing her nostalgia, her memories. She was gifting me with happy events. She was sharing her knowledge, but in a bigger sense, she was being vulnerable with sharing what she had lost years ago when she moved away a half decade ago.
I put down my phone, stopped tracking where we were, and listened.
At one point, Aunt Sonnie asked if I wanted to take the short cut, a windy, narrow dirt road. I said sure, then laughed mightily when we arrived at the other side and I saw the name of the road.