Ten Lines

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Ten Lines for as Many Years

For tradition and for the yellow leaves, I slipped into white 
lace and you dressed in a suit, both we would never 
wear again. It was just you and me standing amongst the 
people who made us. My dad and I walked down a gravel 
path to a dock, to you, to our families under a blue September sky. 

Bud read the vows and we repeated, sending them into 
the future as unwrapped hope. Since then, we've lightened
as our roots interlace around each other to spread and stabilize. 
Every once in a while I find myself laughing a little longer and a little 
harder, so I can keep a moment fluid before it solidifies into memory.  

Let's Celebrate

We got to pal around for a few days, just you and I in the closest downtown we have, talking about how much we love being in the middle of things just to come home to our quiet small town at the base of mountain ranges that range and range.

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Each trip we learn how to travel a bit better. We find a place we can get coffee over which I can sketch while you take your time getting up. We find a restaurant we can go back to again and again. We loved Matt's in the Market so much we found ourselves there a few times. 

We walked as much as we could. At one point we thought we could make it to the Locks, but 5 miles is so much longer when you're in the city. 

We got a ride to our destination and watched the locks fill as busy boats waited. 

We ended the weekend by stopping in at Laura's and Shane's, hanging out with some of our favorite people, and jumping on a much later flight than we planned. As we lifted off, we started scheduling our next trip to Seattle.