It appears that my adolescent children have not cornered the market on hot and cold running angst.
No siree...
In an effort to combat three days of near constant panic-attacks, I packed up my smallest child (whose size, by the way, is a poor indicator of his capacity to unleash holy hell), and headed for one of the only places that I always feel good: the woods.
We settled ourselves by a creek that babbled with layers of rhythm and pitch, a dozen little pools spilling a dozen little falls. The blackberry brambles were lush and green and the light filtered in through the bare branches of the cottonwoods. It only took two minutes for my heart rate to slow and my breathing
to deepen. Zeke spent a content hour scrambling over rocks, collecting sticks, and keeping an eye out for hungry coyotes, mule deer, and black bears. Immersed in the healing power of nature, I felt totally, completely at peace.
I stooped down to photograph a bright green leaf against the brackish grey of the river bottom....
Splash!
I was no longer staring at the leaf, but at my camera, sunk, by a well-aimed stone, to the bottom of the river.
The previously still forest echoed with the sounds of a shrieking duet.
I rushed to dismantle my camera in the ridiculous hope that a nights drying would miraculously cure my waterlogged Canon...
As of this afternoon...the camera is fully operational (except, of course, for the parts that were broken pre-baptism).
My blood pressure has once again returned to normal-ish, and I dare say, I think we'll try the whole woods thing again this week, but this time, I'm keeping Zeke's quick little hands in my clear little sight.
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