It is gray and cold and we are all a little sick, but tomorrow’s going to rain and today is dry. We take the morning slowly, a lazy breakfast and a movie and cuddles on the couch. But when the choice comes up to go back to sleep or go outside, we say yes. Bundle on our coats and our boots. Pack snacks and dry shoes and our scarves. Get in the car and go.
The road stretches ahead and we drive long miles through a tunnel of fog. Mist in the pine trees. Mist on the valley floor. The mountains in the distance are covered in snow.
It’s late afternoon when we arrive at the park. We take the turn toward Bowman Bay, park our car and watch the sky. Then we get out and walk.
Onto the beach, pebbles scattering under our boots. Over the hills, the rocks slick and wet. It’s cold, but somehow we don’t quite feel it. Alone and together, with all the quiet and the water and the sky. My girl and I walk right out into the bay, into all the teals and blues and grays. Turn our faces up and smile. We are part of this and inside of it and small under the big blue sky. Later we will be cold and tired. Later we will make the drive home, tail lights and headlights and neon billboard signs. We will get hungry and stop for Indian food. My daughter will sleep with her head on my lap, right there at the restaurant table. But right now we are happy, in the water, on the sand. It is exactly why we are here.