His eyes were curious, his ears inquisitive. I wondered if he was a fan of Taylor Swift or if the sound of the ukulele touched at some primal memory. Or, maybe like me, he just liked the sound of the small waterfall that cascaded down the smooth time-worn granite on the other side of the creek. Maybe this was where he, like me, came to be alone with his thoughts. It had been a fluke discovering this place. One of the last...