Magical

Sunday was a nearly perfect day. After a series of miracles and getting back to camp we loaded up a few backpacks with our tinfoil dinners and a bag of charcoal and started walking. We trailed behind our parents, getting distracted by dancing ponds alive with waterskeeters, tadpoles, frogs and beetles. When we rounded a corner we saw Mom and Dad perched on a ledge tending the coals and when we approached them they told us to look and behold a relic to our childhood: the Moki Canyon Sand Hill. We clamored to the top. The hill seemed easier to scale when I was 9. By the time we reached the top OlderAndWiserToo was speaking to her heart, bidding it to keep pumping and we summited. It was fantastic. We bounded down the hill after we were done and Mogli ended up with a bloody nose and a suit full of sand. Again, fantastic.

After we paid homage to our memories we sat by a little waterfall and had a devotional before dinner. In quiet moments like those I have come to cherish and they seem to be a hallmark of our family's Lake Powell Adventures. We sat around the sounds of trickling water and talked about answers to prayer. It was so fortifying and peaceful. We ended the night on the boat laying and looking at the stars while singing together. The evening was truly magical.