The Zest of a Boy

He toddles toward the pebbles, tumbling the smooth stones over in his four year old palms, rubbing them like Aladdin’s lamp, tossing them back into the mix, impishly shining with the zest of a boy. He sees the overflow of snowy petals, finds the lowest hanging stem, the gardenia bends to touch his greenhorn nose. Forever that scent will remind him of grandma’s garden like she remembers the tubes of trumpet petals in her own grandparents’ backyard. A twinkle of tremulous joy impacting the fingers of her and her siblings. The rare treat of parties, the round table laughter, heartfelt antiquity. The boy explodes from the bottom of the driveway into the steep mossy front yard, feeling each measured bounce, ne’er a straight path to the door, exploring the red and yellow roses, the crumbling timbers, walking the wall, following scurrying lizards, stepping on ants, a roving eye for the fearful red, yet no thought of turtle monsters nor copperheads that have precariously occupied my property, nor coyotes that have encroached the boundaries. Unboundless energy, nerve, verve of a courageous man in the making, trampling his feet, owning the property then oh so gently snapping a stem, handing his childhood princess a gift, pulling strings of a puppet’s heart, winding the twine like pulling in a windswept kite, ever learning nuances of my mind, tucked away to love, rebell and trust. 6/1/19