Strawberry Fields

The day is closing in, with the last of the sunset fading behind the treeline. Brent and I walk home after our little journey to visit grandma next door, carrying a fresh box of strawberries. A few seconds after beginning our walk, I see he is sitting down in the tall grass behind me, asking for a bite. "C'mon, honey - we can have some when we get home". He gets up and walks a few more paces, then sits down again quietly.

"You know it's going to be dark soon, right?"
"Mmmm Hmmmmmm"

So we sit together in the grass and watch the night closing in. The frogs begin their singing down at the pond, and the longer we sit, the stronger we hear them. Two large turkey buzzards light atop a tall oak to bed down for the night. We sit quietly and eat our strawberries. At some point he crawls over into my lap, and go from eating, to just sitting. We watch as the breezes blow through the grass and wheat around us. We swat the occasional gnat from the tips of our noses. We watch as the jet flies high above us, next to the first quarter moon, and hear its engines far behind it.

And then we begin our walk again, disturbing the buzzards when we get too close. They angrily beat their wings and seek another tree. Brent's eyes become big. "Ffftttt Ffftttt Ffftttt" He says, in a perfect replication of the sound they make as they fly away. "Exactly! The sound of feathers" I tell him, and he practices happily for the remainder of the walk.

Memories are made in a moment, or the beating of a wing, but last a lifetime.