shout

i took henry to see the mountains today. we didn't have to go far: i just opened the curtain in my aunt's spare bedroom where we've been staying and pressed my nose against the window. mountains are bigger than i remember. they push up and up and up, all brown and crumbly and staked with trees. with such a clear big gasp of sky hanging between the peaks in the east and their sisters across the valley. i want to take them home with me. i want to wrestle them into my diaper bag next to the burp rags and the tinkly rattles and drag them across the threshold of my little apartment. i want them to jump like a real live pop-up, cut outs of greatness filling my living room. i want the wash of cool mountain air to stream around my ankles. i want henry to know how it feels to stand at the top of something so tall and shout shout shout.