Again my feet take me out where it feels magical. I'm alone on the back acres walking down the tracks and past the ponds in the glow of dawn. My feet crunch against the stones. Walking and feeling older, but still walking. The air is crisp and my chin is cold even through my soft red scarf. I'm on the lookout for deer, but not today, unless they saw me first and disappeared without a sound. I wouldn't put it past them. I wish I could have a close encounter like I did last spring. I had come upon a great dear and we both froze. I remember his eyes taking me in so fully, so quickly. Finally I had to breathe and with a sudden tensing of his muscles, he bounded away. I had been treading in his world and it was time to return to mine.
My youngest has a similar sense of outdoor adventure. There are times you can see the call of the Wild pulling him as he gazes out the window on a rainy day. It's like he's part wolf. There isn't a puddle or pile of dirt in Rosebud that isn't in danger of being invaded by Weston Lyle Snider.
So after breakfast we head to the trampoline. The fog has burned off, but it's still quite cold -- colder than it looks. It's so quiet here without the Halterman boys and Donovan. Just Westi and I.
He finally convinces me to come up and join him. I of course am concerned I'll hurt myself and then giggle and slightly pee myself and that'll just make me laugh all the more. But of course, laughter is what we need most. Both of us. We jump and get the giggles and then I hoist him high on my feet while lying on my back and send him soaring like an airplane. This is fun. Our laughs get stronger when he crashes onto the bouncy black and we sigh and smile into each other's half smashed faces. Static sticks to our hair and we shock each other between our fingertips. "Ouch!" he yells. It was surprisingly sharp, that shock, but it's also so quick. He wants to try again. "Wait", I say. "You have to gather more energy from the tramp first." He's got on his brother's new socks, but they almost fit him -- already. I pinch his toe. This little piggy... he giggles again. That belly laugh gets
me. I don't hear it very often, --this genuine joy erupting from his soul. Oh. I lean back and look up at the sky. No clouds. Then I start to bounce like a fish out of water. I find a great satisfaction with my legs jutting out toward the sky at just the right height, arching my back, then I fall to the tramp. It takes effort, and I'm sure the passing truck drivers are getting a good chuckle, but for me this has become an Olympic event. How high can I get without stopping or crashing into Weston? It's so exhilerating. I'm incredible. I can actually touch the sky if I point my toe hard enough. Just... a... little... higher!! This is better than a swing! Finally we both settle into the low spot and Weston rests his head on my heaving tummy and I stroke his soft hair. I don't think I would have as many chances to play if I didn't have kids.
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