Hammocks

I am lying on a hammock at the top of the world. At almost 12,000 feet above sea level, the great Ecuadorian volcano, Cotopaxi, rises on the horizon just a short distance away. I close my eyes and my mind wanders back over the years. I am seven years old again and rocking on the hammock in my parents’ backyard. My sister pushes me and I swing faster. My little brother begs to join us, so I sit up and the three of us hang our feet over the side. My sister and I push against the ground as we swing together. I can hear our laughter, feel the breeze on a hot summer’s day. The weeping willow tree hangs her branches low beside the hammock. Our mother calls to us.

But then it all fades away as I hear the backpackers around me say it’s time for lunch. The spell is broken. They are sharing this paradise with me. I open my eyes and join the young people who have come here to seek adventure from various countries around the world. They come from every continent and make me wish I had traveled more when I was young. But I remind myself, I am here now.

One day I may be swaying in a hammock and look back on this day. It is too late for my childhood, too late for my youth, but I will never be here again. So I remind myself to enjoy the moment. For all moments pass and fade into the past.