By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

Willow is stirring.
Our beautiful little one-year old granddaughter in the next room begins her morning ritual with a "sing-song" played by her friendly little blue seahorse who accommodates her in the crib.
I listen to her cheerful discourse and morning chatter and I make my enthusiastic entrance into her bedroom.
Arms extended,
The sweetness, goodness, and smell of my "morning Willow" greets me.
She smells of Lavendar Aveeno,
Wears messy morning hair beautifully,
And lights up like a cannon in my presence.
Mmmm ...
Does it get any better, dear Reader?
The house is still quiet and I work this to my advantage;
I slip on a dry diaper, adorable outfit, and "mom" comes out just in time to slip on a little jacket ... just in case.
And we're off.
Willow's first official field trip.
Willow is riding in style in a three-wheeled delightful stroller that accommodates long legs and a lengthy stride.
The morning air is absolutely perfect:
Warm. Welcoming. Earthy.
A promise of sun soon to come.
We're looking together for visible objects and speaking to everything around us which is the object of a true field trip:
-We name colors and shapes.
-We name trees and flowers.
-We talk about dogs that bark and cats that meow and I work hard to mimic them.
Willow spends half her time craning her neck, turning around to look back at me, and together we laugh.
We're good together ... her and I.
And then wonder of wonders as we round a little school yard bend, what should appear but four deer on our path.
Bambi is part of the collection,
A spotted little vulnerable piece of creation clothed in brown and covered in spots.
We're momentarily mesmerized by her.
She's so beautiful, fragile, and delicate.
And then she's gone ...
Bambi and the little family of deer bound into the small stray wooded area and disappear.
Willow humors me with a little expression of an oval "O" created with her mouth and a wide, blue-eyed look that lets me know this was the highlight of our first field trip.
We make our way back to the "house of grown-ups" and speak to our discoveries upon our return.
And I think to myself ...
The best memories are the ones we can't predict;
The ones which come upon us unannounced, unsought, and 'unthought' of.
These are the memories unforgettable;
Forged by the footsteps that we take.