This past weekend, Mrs. Miller, the Miller boys, and I went for a short hike in the forest. I thought I might describe that as a sort of exercise for myself. Enjoy.
We entered the trail in the late afternoon. The sun was still shining through the trees. Its golden warmth belied the chill coming into the air. The earthen path was strewn with fallen leaves. Oak mostly, some maple. The forest was a carpet of gold and ruddy brown.
Our eight-year-old scampered down the incline ahead of us. The two-and-a-half-year-old required his royal personage to be carried by an adult.
“Come back, you’re too far ahead!” we called out after the older boy.
He waits under protest, but not for long.
Somewhere along the way, the older boy discovers a good walking stick. Everyone agrees the height is perfect. The younger boy’s royal personage now requires a stick. His Highness is presented with a variety of candidates. A royal stick scepter is chosen, and the procession resumes.
We walk and occasionally stumble along the path (the tree roots aren’t always easy to see). There are several fallen trees at the bottom of the ravine. We wonder why they died. The living trees are oaks, young and strong.
The sun is orange now as it plunges toward the horizon. The forest is silent except for the shuffling of our feet. We are at the bottom now. Time to make our way back up to the road.