where the witches meet

In Austin we lived near a service road dubbed Adventure Alley for the dogs. For Lucien, strapped to my back and later toddling, I called it The Wilds. It wasn’t much, really. But everything is big when you are small.

Fast forward, I’d been meaning to get to this green space forever, mere minutes from our house. Something always came up. Covid. General exhaustion. But we made it this morning, early enough for pale lemon light, before the Texas sun sets everything on fire.

In case there’s any doubt, Louie is game. One of his first compound words was “hiking stick.” He’d been saying it for a week before we figured it out. Hiking means adventure. Hiking means snacks. Hiking means parking your butt on every bench you pass, but first you must scale it.

We found where the witches meet,

which is great, this kid is obsessed with Halloween. He even wrote his own song, Happy Halloween Town.

I circled the copse as my kid devoured cherries.

All the week’s garbage fell out of my head.

Everything is small when wonder is boundless.

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