On our way home from Milwaukee this week I pulled over – spontaneously – on the hustle-hurry home.
There is a ridge-top wayside on our drive that is lovely, and I thought I might just pull in and we'd peer over the edge from the car. Take in the view, then head for home.
From there home is only ten minutes or so minutes away. So close after almost four hours on the road.
And we took a break half-way though. So we couldn't really stop, right? We'd just peer over there edge through the car windows. Because it's lovely. And I just couldn't drive on by.
But when my tires hit the gravel the kids cheered from the backseat, "Hooray! We can stretch our legs! We love this spot!"
And so I killed the engine. Without another thought.
Right here. Ten minutes from home.
And we piled out of the car into the cold, damp, April air.
It was just above freezing and drizzling, like it has been all spring.
We peered over the edge, at the town far below and the trees between here and there, and then the kids saw a trail winding off into the forest.
They they looked at me with innocent hopeful eyes as one of them squealed, "Oh, mama! A trail! Can we hike it? Can we?"
And without meaning to I simply smiled a "yes" and off they ran down the trail that teetered precariously on the spine of that ancient mountain.
We walked. We ran. We laughed. There were rocks to throw and litter to pick up and checkpoints to put in place and toy weapons to wield and crystals to discover.
And before long we came to the end of the trail.
A wide sand clearing at the cusp of the ridge. A magical perch high and out of sight from the rest of the world.
"Oh! This is so beauuuuuuutifullllll!", squealed Lupine. "This is the best part of my whole entire day."
And it was.
The best part of our day.
Because I turned my watch around, left my phone in the car, and said yes.
To life. To today. To this adventure instead the ticking of time.
And I said yes.