Today we got to go to a very favorite place of Don's and mine, and one that we have not been to in over four years. This is a spot where we came for walks almost every weekend; the last of which was just a few days before Amy was born. I was already a week past my due date, and a tropical storm was grazing the coast, but we tramped along in the rain on the mile-plus loop anyway.
And four years later, we returned, now with our little family in tow, just as we used to talk and dream about when we took those walks years ago. The pace was a little slower, and our arms were a little more tired as we carried sleepy children up the last stretch back to the car.
Don and the kids spent the better part of an hour throwing rocks in the waves while I slipped an embarrassing number of rocks in my pocket - all of them simply too pretty to leave behind. I like rocks.
This little road trip got me thinking about how a place is never truly just a place, it is a place in time, and returning at a different time renders it a different place. For better or worse, nothing ever exists quite the way it does in memory. But that is okay, because there are an infinite number of new places and moments and memories being created all the time.