Watching traffic at the playground together

Here's a journal entry from mid November 2009 about climbing the playground rocks at Lancaster City Park:

My fingers grab hold of a niche in the hard fiberglass rock, just behind the heel of your small feet. Children's laughter and gleeful screeches bound behind us. We reach the rock's summit, and you pat the rock for me to sit next ot you. Silently, we face the freeway beyond the park's soccer field. The rock's pebbeled surface leaves impressions in the pads of my fingers.

"Eighteen wheeler!" you suddenly shout, pointing at the freeway.

I glance up, catch the tail of a semi-trailer zomming out of my view.

"Another eighteen wheeler!" you say as one zips past going in the other direction. A silent beat. "Garbage truck!" you holler.

"There goes an ambulance," I respond.

"No lights on," you say.

"It must be going back to the fire station."

Then barely before I finish, you shout, "SUV!"

Our exchange goes on like this for a while, each pointing out to the other every fuel truck, motorcycle, bus and police car that passes. All the while your sidle closer to me. A lull in the traffic leaves us sitting quietly next to one another.

"Would you like to go now?" I ask.

You shake your head.

"Do you want to play on the slide or the jungle gym?"

You shake your head again.

"What would you like to do then?"

Your cheek presses against my chest. "Stay here."