A short walk from our back door is our very own pond, filled with turtles and who knows what else.
We've taken to walking there after dinner many nights, often with twins in the wagon and Peter on a back.
The path down the hill is lined with wildflowers.
And adorned with goldenrod.
Attention spans are short, especially when there's nowhere for the turtles to sun themselves so they're mostly just shadows in the murky water, occasionally surfacing for air.
So back up the hill we go, Andrew pulling the wagon full of (more often than not) tearful twins.
Although John Paul will usually disappear up the hill on a new path of his choosing, amidst new pine trees and tall grasses.
Disappearing into the sunset, imagining who knows what.
And planning new adventures for tomorrow.
This beauty that is creation won't get old, I can tell.