It’s About the Journey

 Cheryl had a list: detailed notes with bus times and tour times, prices and choices. We were on a mission—to visit the lookout above the Botanical Gardens (not to be confused with the Botanic Garden, where we are moored), hike down to the garden to take a tour, and then hit the Planetarium for a show.

In short—to make the most of our day.

I think the plan unravelled when we found the tadpoles. Thousands of them—some barely hatched, others hopping along the shore with their tales the tiniest of stubs. Or maybe it was when I saw the bulrushes—a sign from my own childhood that let me know summer had started and the world had slowed to a pace where you could observe a dragon fly as long as you liked. Or perhaps it was because we got lost on the meandering trails—where imaginations, rather than maps were our guide.

 We never made it in time for a tour, or a show. We didn’t tick off a single goal really. We simply wandered and observed, and talked and explored.

And then we went home.

“That was a good day,” Maia told me.