6:00pm on the Beltline with my family.
The girls are always together but away from us. They are either running way ahead, yelling for us to hurry and catch up with them, or they're a quarter of a mile behind us, wrapped up in the investigation of every stick and rock along the way.
Terry and I cradle our coffee cups as we walk slowly, watching everyone around us move much faster in their exercise clothes or on things with wheels, in helmets.
The boys on skateboards dip in and out of sight in the distance.
A lost goose honks in search of his family, moving off the trail as he sees people hurtling towards him.
The girls excitedly stop in front of their newest crusade, pleading for us to take the lost goose home.
In the midst of their appeals, he takes off and flies right into the side of a scared jogger's head.
Everyone around us stops in silence, momentarily shocked and disoriented for the jogger and the goose.
The two seem to shake it off quickly, continuing on their way home.
The sun sets and the smell of barbecued meat tease us as we pile into the car.
Promises to do this every night until Winter arrives are made.
1 comment:
as always poetically written. What a beautifully description of what mattes in life (minus the goose and runner collision)
Post a Comment