wards

carver and I walked down to ward's pond this morning. the heat of the past couple months has kept us much closer to home, so it had been a long while. I had not set out for ward's, having accepted some time ago that carver could not manage the long walk. but as we skirted the edge of the wildflower field, touching the edge of the path that led down into the dark woods, I decided to enter. it was a cool morning, gray, the paths smelling rich with decaying leaves. rabbits ran past, and squirrels could be seen by the handful. dozens of blackbirds were tucked in the piles of leaves, the leaves rolling like a pot of boiling water. the sumac that stretches out over the pond gleamed bright crimson. the lily pads have disintergrated in their place, leaving a shadowy gray pattern on the surface of the water. carver walked all the way to the pond without stopping to rest, stepped into the water ankle deep, and began to drink. we climbed up the hill slowly, and I suddenly felt as if my father were walking along beside us. the walk reminded me of so many similar walks i took with my dad as a child. me, lost in my senses, eyes to the ground searching for treasure, he lost in thought, but still with me, neither of us talking. a peaceful silence, a sanctuary, where living meant taking one step, and then another, nothing to do, or to figure out, or to plan. carver was the child now, even in his old age, taking in every scent, every texture and sound. and even though my thoughts would wander, I was with him, taking in all that was around us, and him, the wonder of him and the gift of the morning. I feel like carver and I both got to expereince a piece of ourselves that has been missing for awhile, our best selves, the parts of us that are as wild and curious as the rabbits, as close to the earth as the decaying leaves.