Probably Tomorrow

Life is interesting. Annalee pleads to go see "neighs" -- horses -- and when we go see them, and get near them, she holds me as tight as she can and hides her face on my shoulder.

"Do you want to go home?" I ask her.

"No," she replies.

"Do you want me to feed them more apples?"

"No."

"Do you want to look at other neighs?"

"No."

"Do you want to go home?"

"No."

When, finally, I conclude that she has withstood as much of whatever joy the experience might be giving her, I say, "Goodbye, horses."

"Goodbye, Flicka," she says, alluding to the horse in her favorite movie.

We'll return as soon as she asks, probably tomorrow.