I headed toward the precipice. I was only fifteen, but I was tired. Tired, but triumphant. I had climbed the steep hill to the base of Vernal Falls and treaded up the slippery Mist Trail to the top, followed by the hot windy path to the apex of Nevada Falls.
Glassy eyes-- Staring a hole in me-- Like dozens of small, pale porcelain dolls in my sister’s spare room.-- I know what this is.
I was seven years old, and my birthday had finally arrived. There were no neighbors coming over or friends from school. But I was happy. I was with my family, all five brothers and sisters, including the new baby who was barely two months old. We always had fun together, and this time was no exception.