In Their Footsteps

I had almost nothing to go on. A picture of a flower with a strange feature in the background. I wasn't even certain where the picture had been taken, just the route the photographer had been on. So I followed, hunting for that red flower and the fuzzy black gash in the earth behind it.

I drove slowly on winding mountain roads comparing every peak I saw to the one in my tiny print of the photo. As I neared the end of my journey I was afraid my quest had been in vain. But as I turned a last bend a familiar shape, obscured by the hills rose up, and in the distance that dark opening that had grabbed my attention.

And grab my attention it did.

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