And I take her hand and force her little feet to keep a quicker pace, even as she's trying to hand me the Queen Anne's Lace she's pulled from the side of the trail. It's probably the fourth bit of Queen Anne's Lace she's given me since the walk started, and I surreptitiously drop it behind me. She's oblivious. "I've got plenty of flowers," I tell her, gently. "Let's maybe not got any more flowers."
She stops tugging on a weed dotted with tiny purple blooms and almost immediately starts to cry. "I want to give you beautiful flowers!" she exclaims.
Ahead of us, Madeleine is tearing down the trail, her dad following shortly behind her. "Say hello to the daddy tree," Mad shouts. Wayland says hi. "Hello, Wayland," she intones deeply, in the voice of the tree. "Say hello to the Mama tree," she says. He says hello. "Hello, Wayland," she says in the high pitched voice of the mama tree. And then she shouts: "MAMA! VIOLET! COME SAY HELLO TO THE TREE!"
I look down at Violet, all teary and again tugging stubbornly at the purple blooms. She hands one to me. "Violet, we don't have enough time for this," I'm saying, even as I stuff the bloom into my pocket with all the other things we've collected along the way.
Then I think of how often I've said this to her, my little girl who likes to take things at a slower, easier pace. Who notices every little thing and finds all things beautiful. Every single thing she sees. Why am I trying to rush her? I crouch down in front of her and make her look at me. "Thank you, Violet," I tell her, and give her a hug. "I love all these beautiful things you give me."
I stand up and shout to Mad, "We're coming!"
And smile down at Violet. "Ready?" I ask, and resolve to let her lead. Because we'll get there. The trees aren't going anywhere -- they'll receive our greetings eventually, because they have to. And we really do have all the time in the world.
