Mara and I went for a walk today. Christmas was a bit lackluster because of COVID and we were all being pretty lazy. Work was really slow as it is for a lot of places the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Mara had been camping out on the couch watching TV. I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. None of us were hanging out with each other. And I feel really badly for Mara. Maybe it’s the second child thing. Maybe it’s my schedule, responsibilities, stresses, excuses are all different nowadays. I know one thing for sure, she’s not going to be a kid for much longer. And I love hanging out with this kid. And she’s always game for doing whatever.
So I grabbed her and told her we were going for a walk. And she excitedly obliged. So we walked the Burner trail along Slaughter and tossed a bunch of old sandia pepper, moonflower, and impatiens, over the barbed wire fence. And then she hung out and watched as I cleaned up some dead mesquite limbs that were impeding the trail. And we talked about stuff. I don’t remember what all we talked about. I remember telling her about mesquite, how to identify it, and how it’s good for smoking meats.
We stopped and watch three does grazing on the pipeline. Mara told me about a dream she’d had recently.
Call it seasonal depression. This time of year I always get all mushy and sentimental. And very cognizant of time and mortality. The days and years get shorter and shorter. Kids grow up so damn fast. I still think Mara’s only 4-years-old. I still think I’m only 40.