Once there was a little boy, contentedly chilling on the rocks in Maine on a bath mat (yes, a bath mat. Why a bath mat? Who knows. It was there.), minding his own business, enjoying the sunset. He listened to the boats and the osprey. He listened to people talk around him. He felt the sea breeze. Life was good.
Once there was an Uncle, who was also contentedly chilling on the rock, watching the sunset, listening to osprey, reminiscing about a recent hiking trip out West.
Then that very same Uncle, without warning, morphed into his trail name (apparently when you are on the trail you give yourself another name. Who knew?) and he issued forth a sound like none other.
And, the little boy on the bath mat, listening to osprey and watching the sun set, was not so happy. Actually, he was terrified. And inconsolable.
Eventually equilibrium was restored to the world. Tentatively.
And, the sun set.