There is something about going down to my Grandpa's. It's a place where I can breathe deep, and a place where time slows no matter how short the visit. My soul always finds rest there.
The weather was perfect for a day at the river; hot, humid, a slight breeze, and not too sunny.
452. The sound of the river gurgling, and trees swaying.
453. Boy laughter as rocks skip and splash.
453. Holding hands with my "baby boy" as we hop from rock to rock only to fall in once or twice.
454. Amazed that my oldest is able and willing to jump into the river at seven.
455. Good conversation.
456. Freshly picked berries with red stained fingers and faces.
457. Boy hands almost as big as mine.
458. The smell of grilled food wafting through the air.
459. Red hot dogs.
460. Porch steps, a make shift table.
461. The smell of freshly cut hay from across the road.
462. Sleeping boys minutes into the car ride.
463. Roads weaving through nature.