He packs his bag: Frisbee, gloves, baseball, football.
I will take one picture.
We head out the door, making our way to a new park. It is bigger and better than our previous park, more trails to follow, more open spaces to play in, wooded.
He teaches me about bluejays and squirrels. One squirrel can bury 300 acorns a day.
He teaches me about oak trees. He asks me what type of bird that is—over there!
Speaking of birds, he knows a lot about pigeons and falcons. He delights in living things.
We claim a patch of land in the park and I teach him how to throw the football like a pro. The breeze is gentle and refreshing. The sun sighs. There is laughter across the large green field, little children playing soccer.
An airplane flies overhead, filled with many people traveling to make a deal, busy and worried with work.
We are throwing the baseball now. He likes the smack of the ball on his leather glove and remarks on it. He hopes he can learn to throw a curve ball someday but this straight on simple game of catch is just fine by me.
Later, he laughs as I take his picture. I say a prayer of thanks for this day with my son.
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