field and forest

This season I seem to see her in the trees, ruddy swatches against blue sky, there one day and not the next.  I imagine her drifting through the branches back down into my arms.

I got work in Cincinnati last week.  We had planned to head to Hocking Hills, but since Andy already had the time off, it was easy for him to be home with the boys while I was gone.  Although we co-parent four days a week and pass the household baton back and forth on a pretty regular basis, it's always nice to switch routines for a bit.

I worked with people I don’t ever expect to see again -- an obstetrician and an infant, a wardrobe stylist and the craft service girl.  Conversation turned inevitably toward children and my answers were a little different with each new query. When I'm with people I imagine will be part of my life for awhile, I don’t hesitate to talk about Celia, but last week I stumbled over what should be simple answers to straight-forward questions.  How many children do you have?  Is your oldest a boy or a girl?

We made it to Hocking Hills just in time to crawl in bed.  We woke to a sunrise that stretched open its arms, an invitation to explore the rambling woods, to throw sticks and climb rocks, solid reminders that nature builds the best playgrounds.  I felt anchored in moments that hadn't yet extended into the future.  And also vaguely aware of the past, her presence like a floater in my field of vision.

Disclaimer:  Pictures can create the illusion of an airbrushed reality.  What you can't see is that none of us got enough sleep, and all of us got colds.  Tolliver was not confident walking in boots on uneven terrain and Tucker was too comfortable close to the edge of cliffs.  I had to sacrifice most of my morning coffee to create a carrier for a slew of salamanders, and the back of the Jeep is full of ladybugs and at least eleven layers of leaves and dirt.  Yet we're actually all four looking forward to going back soon.