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Miles first hitchhike

Miles won t remember his first hitchhike, he was a month old and balled up layer after layer of clothing and blankets. A cold January wind nibbled on my ears as we waiting on the side of the highway. He stayed warm, it wasn t just the blankets, but the baby-carrier I had him in. Miles slept against my chest, only two thin shirts keeping our bodies apart. The temple shuttered as an endless assault of waves battered its shores. The fridge salty water rose high, but the blunted rocks around the coast line rose higher. As they collided water shot into the air, thousands of miniature geysers.

Miles stayed deep in the wrap where the world was warm, licking his lips to taste the salty air and letting his eyes roam the narrow openings. Miles was young, he couldn t make out the stone dragons as colorful as rainbows standing above the grey concrete sea or daddies blond hair as it whipped around in the wind like a child s play toy. He couldn t understand this world, but I showed it to him anyway.

Miles mother is a traveler, Miles father is a traveler, Miles will travel the world with us. He will travel the hot and the cold, the comfortable and the uncomfortable. It is important to start young and know that adventure is everywhere. He loved it, his eyebrows lifted as the sea crashed, and his smile lifted higher as he looked on the kind drivers who picked us up.





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