The leaves on the trees were the color of fresh fingerpaints, green and new as they only are this time of year. The sun that warmed us was still refreshing, and the breezes whipped through the branches, singing their own lullaby on a spring day. We walked to the pond, admiring each caterpillar, every note of bird-song. It didn't matter that he walked out to where his shoes were sucked into the mud. Shoes and socks can be washed, but memories come once in a blue moon.
On the way back, we found a clearing in the wheat field, where the deer lay to sleep at night. The stalks of wheat bent over smoothly to make a perfect bed, and we rested in the blinding sun. He refuses to sit on the ground, so he plops down on my stomach and lays back against me. One second feels like a thousand, with the warmth of the sun's rays, the rustle of the forest leaves, the mockingbird's ever changing melodies. I grasp the moment and paint it onto my soul.
And then we head back. I watch him chase the cat through the leaves, watching so he doesn't run into the poison ivy patch. The winds die down as we round the corner for home, and serenity eases into the everyday once again.
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