I grant myself a wish

Ever since the Madrid bridge has been closed, we have taken the "scenic route" to church. At a certain point in our detour, we cross the Grasse River in a place called Chamberlain Corners. Every time, without fail, I gazed longingly from the car window and wished aloud to frolic in the waterfalls.

Frolic is the only appropriate word.

I wanted to hop across the scattered flat rocks and plop myself down right in the middle of those sweet little waterfalls. Then I would gasp as the cold river water blasted through my arms and legs. I would have to shout to my companions, even if they were seated at my side, as the crash and thunder of the current would drown out our voices. After a bit, I might decide to explore the little rivulets that fan out from the roaring river. I would swish my feet in the swirly ribbons of wetness while the hot sun warmed my back. I would feel the smooth summer-warmed rocks under my bare feet and breath the woodsy wet smell of driftwood, weeds, and moss.

I seized this hot, unbearably humid afternoon, grabbed two of my bestest buddies, and did these very things. Aren't you glad?