A few weeks ago, these {one+one=three} flew me to Ashland to document the final days of the belly. Peter was one of the first friends I met when I moved to Portland over ten years ago. We worked together and then he left to become a doctor and he met a beautiful girl and moved away. Now they are back in Oregon, living in a town that is little and bright; a town where Shakespeare sonnets constantly echo through the foothills. They live in a hundred-year-old house that has a view of the sky and the cowboy hills, and their dining room walls are painted red.

The day that I visited them, the breeze was warm, the clouds rolled by and kids played in the river that runs through town. After a full day of orange popsicles, walks through the trees, walks downtown, lunch at the park, time with the belly, moments on the porch, moments in tunnels and the discovery of heart-shaped tree bark, we said our goodbyes. I whispered a secret to the belly and then waved at them from the airport sidewalk. As I flew back to Portland that evening, I fell asleep and had a mini-dream that their baby had arrived. I woke up and the plane was landing and I was home and now, a few weeks later, I am still waiting to meet the baby in that belly, still having dreams about who that little person is…