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"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2015."

Roan:  He's grown so very much in the last week alone; looking more six months than five months.  Still wobbly on his Bumbo, though.  Almost all of the brown hair is gone, replaced by soft white-blonde fuzz.

Afon:  The last picture of the wild man before his haircut.

Afon's wanderings--and they would be far further than we would like, if he had his way, remind me of this poem; or maybe the poem reminds me of him.  Either way:

Spring Morning, by A.A. Milne 

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know. 

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass. 

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You'd sail on water as blue as air,
And you'd see me here in the fields and say:
"Doesn't the sky look green today?" 

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
"It's awful fun to be born at all."
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
"We do have beautiful things to do." 

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!" 

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

And that's half the year!  Except that I missed the first couple of weeks in January; late pregnancy and immediate postpartum ailments are more focused on survival than documentation.

What are you thoughts halfway through 2015?  Summer Christmas has passed and today is the solemnity of Sts. Peter and Paul.  It's the ideal time to be still and reflect on the past months, to follow the new ones into the future, as you might follow a stone thrown out over the water.