on a trail of chapparal, ferns strewn out over a hill above a water trickle, traveling through the trick of sunlight green as the earth sinks our feet through its thick black, red mud
young girls climb up unpoisoned oaks forcing the echo of laughter in the small canyon as we watch them from shaded stumps: a moment when our joy is embraced by the branch arms surrounding and our voices are hallowed in the trees like the bird chirping finding a soft staccato in the middle of the hillside song
these moments bring grace, a portal to the beyond, a togetherness we rarely know through the precise content of our essays and bring the brilliance of remembrance, a place to go in our mind's eye and bring to the conversation at a future date
the magic of 13
how lucky we are
(My daughter Jasmine turned 13 on Sunday and we took a hike up the Huckleberry path near the Sibley Preserve in the Oakland hills)
