summer solstice

First hike with a trailhead, not stumbling across the rocks, in a year. The snow is still melting. The streams are high. We have to search out the logs, find forks, jump smaller branches. The dogs run back and forth through the water waiting for us to find our way. You use your walking stick for balance. I don't look, pray for no broken bones that would stall us in our tracks at home. We skirt circles of snow and golden patches of avalanche lilly and walk across the larger drifts until we are stymied by unrelenting snow. And then we sit by the meadow and eat cheese sandwiches. I take pictures of myself with the dogs. I am laughing so much, I don't know what I look like anymore

I lay back on the dirt, the pine needles, the sun.

A hike is always a metaphor I say. I never thought of it that way you answer. But it is. We have to search out our way, keep looking for the way across and we find one. Finally, we aren't finished yet. We're not at the end.

When we get home, we get grain for the goats, the horses. Cindy Lou, the goat, is by herself in the barn. She is holding her ears at right angles from her head. What's up Cindy Lou. I say, we need to put Cindy Lou by herself. Right now? Yes. And then she starts groaning. Can you get me a chair from the loft? I'll make some tea, get towels, hang out with her. I'll be right back.

You are still in the loft when I get back. I don't think it's going to be long you say. Then you say, there's a bubble.

Cindy Lou thrashes out. She flips on her back and kicks all her legs straight out. She is very powerful.

The baby is born. He is white with a tan head and dark brown on his hips. He is slick. And I am drying him off and putting him in front of Cindy Lou. Cindy is licking and I am rubbing and it is the first day of summer.