And other small miracles

Our family lives in suburbia, or rather 5 sixths of us do.

California can be a deceptive State. People are familiar with the glories of San Francisco and the glitter of L.A. but the vastness is often missed. The greater part of the State is referred to as 'wilderness.' The 'wild' part of wilderness seems far more threatening than English countryside, tame, safe and comforting. This is where our 'sixth' spends the majority of her time, now that she is an adult and has choice. What else could I have expected from this ‘save a whale,’ ‘hug a tree,’ ‘stroke a banana slug’ kind of offspring? Although she is out in the wilds, modern technology keeps us connected through the telephone, although I would prefer her mobile to be nearer a cellular base station, or maybe just closer.

We talk late in the evening whilst small people slumber. We watch the same sunset, several hundreds of miles apart. She talks, I listen. I can hear the wind rush about her as she charges down a brush filled hill, rough terrain without a trail. She forges her own path as she talks and walks and weeps, the trials of youth, no longer trivial.

I learned that tears were a sign of weakness. I chose to teach a different lesson. Shed a tear, skip a gall stone.

Minutes tick by as the sun sets and darkness settles outside and in.

I remember my own tears on rare occasions. Dump the baggage, lighten the load.

My tears are rare because I know that they incapacitate me. They reduce me to an immobile soggy heap. This is the kind of multitasking that I cannot envisage.

To weep is to cease to function.

Weeping and talking, make a poor combination, too much gulping.

Weeping and walking! It's out of the question.

Weeping, walking and talking?

In the dark?

She's the closest thing to “Wonderwoman” that I've come across in this lifetime.

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