The other day brought some light showers and it helped cool things down a bit so your momma and I took you outside to burn off some of your built up energy. You thoroughly enjoyed being barefoot and running around in the wet grass as a light mist of rain danced on your face.
It wasn’t long before you found some Pill Bugs in the garden and, just like your momma when she was young, you were determined to find more and either play with them or examine them.
Watching you play in the rain with your momma brought this poem to mind and I hope you enjoy it as much as your momma and Aunt Carlee did when I would read it to them when they were little.
“There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.”
― Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends
I love you little man, Puppa.