10 41 pm pst   [ swinging ]

I went for a walk today -- and I mean a long one. I decided I would walk all the way to the bottom of the Berkeley hills and back. The sky was grey, and I made a deal with it that I would trun around as soon as it started raining. I didn't take my camera, deciding I would travel better without the six pounds banging against my hip. I told myself that the images I intook would be just for me.

The walk started out perfectly. I was one block from Matthew's house when I heard a noise in an open garage and looked over. An elderly woman was standing by her car with her dog. "What beautiful hair!" she exclaimed. I returned a hearty, delighted "Thank you!" "You are very pretty, but it was the hair that caught my attention," she added quietly, as though the initial compliment was not enough. My laughter filled the otherwise empty street.

I walked a long way lost in thought. I was following the route Matthew drives to school in the morning, but I gave up and decided to explore other roads. I was never really lost, but I didn't know where I was going. And suddenly, I stumbled upon a park.

This was a teeny park nestled in the hills, certainly frequented only by neighborhood children. I'll bet they have swings, I though. I explored. The park had two levels, and on the lower one, there were three swings that you could sit on and look out at the bay. It was perfect.

I hopped on and swang high and steady. I was shortly joined at the park by two girls. They ran around in choas, talking a hundred miles a minute. "Let's play hot lava!" the smaller one said. "Look at the ground. It's red hot. Ouch. It's burning hot. Jump up here!" She said hot lava as a woman says a new-found lovers name.

Finally they wandered over to the swings. I was in the middle because it was the highest up. The girls got on either side of me. I said hello to them. They were wary. I asked it they wanted to have a contest to see who could go the highest.

"It's a little unfair, because my legs are longer," I explained.

"I'm bigger than you," the older girl challenged.

"No you're not. How old are you?"

"Five. No, I'm six."

The younger girl explained that the older girl was five and a half, but the older girl held fast that she was six, though she admitted her birthday hadn't come yet.

"How old do you think I am?" It is my favorite question to ask kids along with what they want to be when they grow up.

"Nine and a half," the younger one guessed. "Fourty!" the older one exclaimed, though she didn't really believe it because she laughed when she said it.

"I am twenty-two."

"You're as old as the world!" the older one declared.

"No, I'm not as old as your dad," I explained. He had just come to push them on the swings.

The younger girl left to pout and cry that her dad hadn't pushed her the right way. Her friend went to comfort her. Eventually, an even younger boy (four, I'd guess) came to swing. I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. "A snow mobile driver."

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