Raucous, half-drunk sonnets paired with billowing strums of a guitar from the neighboring camp seep through the canvas of the camper. My tiny human sleeps. Eyes peacefully closed; one hand tightly curled into a fist rests at the side of her face.
This morning, we woke to a solo hot air balloon drifting above massive cliffs of tangled red rock. Up and down, closer and closer, it came, the sound of the hot air being forced into the balloon echoing over the still valley.
Later, we met camp friends, and after having a little chat with Monroe (I'm getting used to her "carrying" most the conversations these days), our new friends offered a proverbial cup of sugar (aka a treasure map aka pot of gold under the rainbow) through an outdoor shower, firewood and cup of coffee.
We are figuring out this road life thing, one moment at a time. ...I'm exhausted and Monroe has had a few public breakdowns. Her first. Hey, mama, you know what I'm talking about here. But it's the little moments that make up the whole. The good, the bad, the ugly. I wouldn't want one without the other. Because, honestly? Without the one, we wouldn't know the other.
My neighbors have given up the guitar, laughter fades with conversation. The stars wink at me.
...it's these moments.