I pack my backpack, and set off before the dawn

on a road that runs through tall pines and cool fresh creeks.

Cool fresh creeks that start from the tall green mountains,

and flow into the ocean.

I pack my backpack and set off.

Before the dawn, the mountain nutcrackers and stellar jays hop among the trees.

At noon, the high eagles circle the green valleys - that smell of tall pines and cool fresh streams - in search of squirrels.

In the evening, I return home.

And I tell the story of the pines and the streams and the view of the distant ocean from the top of the mountains.

And each time I return,

I am a bit older

And each time I pause on the moss-covered rocks,

it takes a bit longer.

And I know that one day

somewhere along these trails far from home

that run through the tall pines and cool fresh creeks,

I will sit and I will never stand up again.

But I know that at the time of my death,

the air will small of the palm groves by Karun,

and the scent of Arvand,

and the Gulf,

and its croakers.