On Sunday we went to the river (the Arkansas, which can hardly be called a river, at least in our part of the country, as it's 2 feet deep in the middle. Seriously.). All along it they have paved trails for bicycling/running/walking/taking the whole family plus the dog, two bikes, and a skateboard, etc. If you hadn't guessed yet, we did the latter.
It was gorgeous out. It was one of those days where it seems the sky couldn't get any bluer and everything couldn't be more vibrant.
(While we were taking a break, I took a picture of myself. It was supposed to show that it was warm enough that I didn't need a jacket and could actually feel my hair on my shoulders. Instead it turned out like this.)
(This picture is sort of chaotic - with Lilly pretty much right in front of the camera, and my dad cut off - but there's something about it I really like.)
I digress. Back to my story (if there was one at all). We decided to climb down from the trail to the water via a steep slope (I got dirt in my shoes. And I was wearing black skinny jeans. Dirt and black skinny jeans don't really mix.).
But once I made down the hill, which took a while, it was amazing. It actually felt like being at the ocean...it even smelled like it. There was sand between my toes, a gentle breeze blowing my hair, and a perfect place for pictures.
Looking at these pictures again makes me want to forget the piles of homework I have and go tan by the river.
