This morning we decided to hike again. All five of us.
The drive was filled with apprehension. Everyone, I suppose, has their own special brand. Mine is colored by a tendency toward perfectionism (go figure) and the memory of that time I hauled everyone to the tubing hill only to find it was closed due to Serengeti Desert-type snowpack. I check the pass reports now.
We arrived at the trailhead to find dozens of like-minded adventurers (and the requisite parking jamboree). Welcome to the REI-fueled, trekking pole-equipped jungle, I guess.
No matter. The moment our five pairs of boots and basketball shoes and tenny-runners hit the dirt, we were kids again. Forgive the melancholy, but I can't help wondering... how many more days like this will we have? Afternoons spent walking the same miles and turning over rocks and pausing at waterfalls and digging in wet clay.
How many more?
Hopefully many more with all five of us. And then there will be days with just three. And then two. And then someday our grandchildren will visit — maybe from far away. And they will wonder why Grandma and Grandpa look at their parents with twinkles in our eyes, remembering days like this...
♥ you, kids.