I’ll Go With You

When I was little and felt like running away, my dad would grab my hand and say, “Here…I’ll go with you.” Together we’d wander through the mists and ponderosa pine forests of California’s foothills until there was nothing left to do but go home. Today is one of those days. Not so different from any other day. Just a day when I feel the weight of it all more than usual and wish I could grab my father’s hand and run away.

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