Photo Source: Unsplash Freedom Daddy and daughter on a windy day. Hair blows up the yellow kite, so small. Held in handfuls, cupped, taut in four, three-foot lines. Isn’t that freedom rising and falling? Father joins me for a wooded walk. Imaginary men in my large family— fanning out on the trail, meeting foot by foot at vaulted marshy stairs. No motion like tallgrasses playing long, lazy, swishy patches. How’s that for freedom? Just before leaving, I spot delft, deft, indebted color....