I am at the tail end of my generation, and while many have died from avoidable occurrences, I feel I have still been left with a little bit of hope and a little bit of pride. Still, all is not well for the past is hard to sell, and very little importance has been placed on recently.
It has taken me way too long to finish this chapter in my continuous and never-ending tale of a small aspect of life. At the time of this book’s first page, I was still stationed in Yellowstone. Now, almost two years have passed and I’m stationed in south Houston wondering where I’ll end up next. But not until the walls are yellow will I disassembled camp and hike into foreign country. These metaphors are sickening, of that I am aware, but one time at Yellowstone I breathed a breath outside of confining borders and lived outside of my constricting world. One must understand just where I’ve been and accept my constant references to the land of bison as a turning point for something significant, and meaningful, and great. I won’t be here forever, a cliché we must all come to realize, and I refuse to get vacuumed into an accustomed parade where my refusal to march leads to my trampling.