A frightened rabbit darts away at the sound of his footsteps, a snake slithers across his path in pursuit of the rodent, but undeterred the old man plods his way across the overgrown meadow. His brow is furrowed in thought and determination, his limbs are aching from the relentless pursuit. What is he pursuing? I wonder as I watch his stiff but sure gate. I follow from a distance, not wanting to disturb his concentration.

He has crossed the meadow now and entered the trees. I hide behind a large trunk, big enough to hug and not have your fingers touch on the other side. Peeping around it, I spy the old man kneel at the bank of a creek and trace his fingers against a rock. I squint my eyes to see what he is so engrossed in. There appears to be indentations in the rock. Footprints, perhaps?

“Astonishing!” I hear him exclaim.

Then he looks up with an almost startled expression on his face and glances around worriedly.

“Where am I?” his demeanor has changed. No longer the confident explorer, he looks almost frightened.

I see this as my cue to reveal my presence.

“Grandpa, what did you find?”

He lifts his head to stare at me blankly, then a grin spreads across his face.

“I don’t know who you are child, but look at these little footprints in the rock!”

“Wow Grandpa,” I take his hand and help him to his feet, “what a find! Now let’s go home.”

Despite his repeated assurances that he doesn’t know me, he allows me to lead him back across the meadow. Little does he know that we’ve made this treck many times before, so many that our feet have channeled a little path here. And I’ll walk this path with my Grandpa many more times before I leave his side. Tomorrow, next week, or whenever else his itch for adventure drives him to discover those footprints on the rock again.