Waiting at a Crossroads
On a fine November day, an outing with my 4 year old son was coming to a close when a cyclist stopped me. My son was dragging and ready to go home. The owl was probably gone by now. But I couldn’t leave. So I carried him. And my gear. And we raced down the path, my legs and arms burning, my rig clattering around. We almost gave up. And then there he was. Unbothered, regal. Staring down at us. It was an enchanted moment.
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