Yesterday afternoon AJ and I packed his little red wagon full of snacks and went for a long and winding walk through the twisting roads of the neighborhood down toward the river. We made many stops as we searched for ducks in the pond (not a one), admired the many waterfalls, threw sticks from the bridge into the stream, collected red and gold leaves, examined the community gardens for identifiable vegetables (pumpkins!), counted all the fenceposts on one side of the pasture (32), and played pretend baseball on the Little League field (I pitched phantom balls; AJ hit ten consecutive invisible home runs). When we finally arrived at the riverside playground, the sun was glinting off the water at an autumnal slant. AJ tried out every swing and we walked out to the pier where we pretended we were riding a train that floated on water and only stopped at toy stores. The summer�s motorboats were absent. Instead, we listened to the rattling sounds of sandhill cranes weaving in great circles over head while a pair of hawks engaged in a similar pattern below them.

All was peaceful until we heard a couple of kids screeching like banshees. We turned around and saw one of AJ�s playgroup friends and his little sister barreling toward the playground. We headed back and the three of them tore around after each other for the next hour while I pondered how I was going to calm him down enough to get him back into the wagon. It was a lovely afternoon.

We came home to find a package for AJ. It turned out to be from my friend H. whose mother is a fairly well-known children�s book author/illustrator. Her books are extremely popular in our house and AJ was thrilled to see a new one. A cryptic note from H. advised us to read the dedication. We turned the page and AJ immediately spotted his name among the names of some other children of H�s (and by extension my) acquaintance. H.�s mom had also inscribed the book to him with his name and a little drawing of one of the characters for which she is best known. AJ keeps opening the book to admire it and has been carrying it around with him so that he might show it to anyone who asks (and even to those who don�t). Another generation of book fetishists in the making.

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