Those small spaces outside of suburbia, where wind and water dance and boundaries disappear, seem quite dreamy at the end of an overcrowded day.  

We take that loaded minivan straight past the city limits sign leaving traffic roundabouts and hard spun life patterns far enough behind.  The yellow from the canola fields splash sunshine and we listen to C.S. Lewis tell of home and of lands far away.

There's a tire swing awaiting us and a floating dock, we know.   And when the girls pause their giggles and their freedom cries of glee, we can hear the dance of wind and water beyond the city soundscape.