We were two brothers climbing Camel Rock while on a family road trip through New Mexico. I was six and my brother thirteen. He was officially a teen and considered me a pesky little kid brother, but on that day, as we climbed Camel Rock, we were both somehow equal. We were both explorers in this land of magical rocks and sky. He reached out his hand to lift me to the highest point. Now, so many years later, my brother gone, fences surrounding the place we use to climb, one can only observe the rock from a distance, but even from the distance of time and death, I still feel the hand of my brother reaching out to lift me to the next level.