I love this picture. Don't you?

Notice how none of their four feet are actually touching the ground? Soon two of them will but the outside ones are aloft. Until it's their turn to pound. 

The rhythm of their stride is a twining of freedom and restriction. We're talking about tethers, tied with consent. You know, like a knot.

As anyone who has entered a three legged race knows, even a minor wobble in your sync lands you in a tangle of limbs. Plus it hurts. But when you calibrate your legs, arms wrapped around each other, it feels like flying. Maybe chanting helps. Or counting. Then the inertia carries you across the finish line with enough momentum to keep going. Just for fun.

Sometimes it feels as if neither John nor I are grounded. Each time a baby or two arrived we did not comprehend what was ahead. Our four household moves were light on certainty no matter what the gross weight of the truck. Building an apartment for my manic mother, navigating the labyrinth of special needs services, and our own diminishing health all entail a bit of free fall. 

But maybe if I lean in and hang on, we will get there. Not that I am clear what there even looks like.