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Hugo Peak Trail

We were still rummaging in the parking lot for the right stuff to cram in the back pack–sunblock, a bunch of water, snacks for the starving, and emergency TP disguised as paper towels–when we looked at our son.

Who stood there in flip flops.  At the trail head.  Because he brought no other shoes.

None.

Zip.

Zilch.

When we emptied the van and found nothing but last week’s library books, we said, “ah, well,” tossed in extra band aids and went ahead anyway.

By the time we’d gone a quarter mile, two people held walking sticks and one had already shed a shirt.

Then, as the shade disappeared and the view got better…

the cheeks got redder…and we set ‘er down.

When the woods enveloped us again, the guy with shaky shoes burst again to the lead.

Until he stopped mid-step for the 26th time to show us another breathtaking stick, and his daddy passed him on the left.

Two and half miles from the door of the van, we were at the peak–all of us–even the kid who didn’t make it into the frame because he’s somewhere to the right running circles.

But here’s the lot of us.  Watered.  And worn.

And ready…

Ready to take these feet home.

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