Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs (Don McLean)

Suddenly, I am awake.

I am in my sleeping bag, in my camper. I hear the wind slightly moving the pine branches outside. The people in the campsite next to us are moving around. Mountain jays are screeching. A brook at the edge of the campsite is burbling. Now I hear the slow steady breathing of my wife. And in the bed at the other end of the camper, I hear two girls, also breathing slowly. They are still asleep. They should be. Yesterday, we hiked around a lake. They ran all the time. They looked at everything that moved. They wanted to play in the water, but they don't have swim suits yet, and besides, the water is freezing. They picked up rocks and pine cones and put them in their pockets. The hike took several hours. For dinner we cooked hot dogs over a camp fire. The girls had great fun cooking marshmallows and making s'mores. A rare nighttime thunderstorm woke them up, so they had too little sleep. But now, I can hear them, gently snoring.

After we drive back down the mountains, we take the girls to the zoo. They are amazed at the animals. They run from area to area. They love the baby animal nursery. They look with big eyes at the small animals. We try to talk, broken English, broken Russian, minimal Ukrainian.

That evening, I sit on the couch in front of the TV, one girl on each side. They are already comfortable enough that they lean against me as we watch some cartoons on DVD. The language goes by too fast for them to catch, but they laugh anyway at the slapstick humor.

Then I get to put them to bed. For now, bed is a sleeping bag on the floor of the front room, inside a nylon tent. We speak English slowly, trying to communicate. It's difficult, but facial expressions help a lot. They laugh so easily. After I pray with them and leave, I can hear them whispering to each other. I have no idea what they are saying, but they sound happy.

And then I really do wake up. There are no girls. Not yet. Soon, maybe.

Rolan