"Friend,

When you stray or sit and take your ease

On heath or hill, or under spreading trees,

Pray leave no traces of your wayside meal,

No paper bag, no scattered orange peel,

Nor daily journal littered on the grass;

Others may view these with distaste, and pass;

Let no one say, and say it to your shame,

That all was beauty here until you came."

I've driven past this sign half a dozen times. I always make Jacob pull over so I can read it, admire the flowers growing around it, and feel the breeze flowing through the mountains. Winding down the dirt road I always ask aloud; 'I wonder who wrote that?' And, I forget I've wondered just as soon as I say it. The sentiment, the lesson, is what always stuck.