She ran. She ran around the shop twice, around the house once, through the grass, around the trees, over crunchy gravel, into hay filled barns and eventually even into a dusty old tack shed. I took for granted all that space when I was little, because it was always there. But she lives in the pent up, small little house, in a row of small little houses with small little yards without real grass. She told Pa his yard was the park when she looked out the window. To her, he lives at the park, all he needs is a swing and it would be official. She loves it there... especially the running free part. And I let her, only herding her away from big roads and deadly objects when I think that curiosity won't grab her and steer her in another direction on her own. And I snap pictures of her happy freedom to remind me of how amazed she was by the adventure of it all, and how wonderful she felt about being there...and sometimes I take an extra picture...to remind myself what it was like when I was her age and felt the exact same way here.
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