Raised by my daughter

Raised by my daughter

16th Feb 2014

Raised by my daughter. A gate stands between us and Forest Road 89. A few steps and we pass out of (relative) civilization, away from paved streets, mailboxes, and chain-link fences. We pause at the threshold, pondering this weighty step we are about to take and we throw caution to the wind! My daughter is not one to wait quietly. Thresholds be damned! Because why stand still when you could be running? To have the wind blowing through your hair, tousled fondly by invisible hands. To feel your legs burning, pistons pumping, thumping, little engines of locomotion. To have your feet strike fresh, untamed ground, and strike it again, and again, thrusting into that great unknown with the impulsive courage of an explorer. Pablo Neruda said,

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Piggyback Rider standing child carrier

Raised by my daughter.