|Me, at home in Sitka, Alaska in 2007.|
The cool, wet smoothness of boulders sprayed with surf.
The cushiony cleanness of moss.
Rough bark and dry reeds.
Sometimes I get a little sad about our current adventures. They aren't what they used to be. I grew up on tropical beaches, and then in the woods of Alaska with the crashing of waves constantly in the background of every thought and conversation. A part of my soul needs that; obviously my feet do, too. Or they wouldn't be imagining those textures, and with those textures, the accompanying feelings.
Freedom, energy, youth. My eyes only feel completely open when I'm barefoot and I can't hear cars or the hum of an air conditioner.
"The kids are my adventure now," I have to tell myself.
And listen, we've had adventures. Just different ones. The scale is smaller and I think that's okay.
We are going to Alaska next month for my dear friend's wedding, and I can't wait to take them to the places that made me who I am. I hope they feel their hearts open up wide to take in the mountains and the sea and the dripping green of wet trees.
I'll be sure to take off their shoes as often as I can.