Slowly Making Their Way

Life.

I’m sitting on my porch.   It is so pretty out.   The sky is soft blue.  The air is amazingly fresh.  There’s a sweetness that floats in and out of lungs as you breathe.   Most of the neighbors cut their grass today.  It’s a sunny day after weeks and weeks of rain.   People are out.  But the day has been long.   The working mom’s and dad’s are tired.  It’s Friday night and everyone is drained from the dragging themselves through the deluge of rain.

I look up and see two small children.  A boy from the house across the street to my right.   And a girl from the house across the street to my left.  They can’t be more than five or six.    The little boy’s mom is standing there.  I can hear the little girl asking the boy’s mom about staying over, or playing.  The mom is saying something about being tired and they have a long day tomorrow.

I look down at the computer on my lap.  When I look back up small town America, and I am sure small town everywhere,  is being played out in front of my eyes.

Mom is standing in her yard.    Arms hanging listlessly by her side.  She is exhausted.  Little boy is walking little girl across the three front yards that separate their houses.  He is talking to her.  They are walking close to one another.   But comfortably.   Because they’re little kids and they just like being together.  Talking about little kid stuff.   They were walking sloooow.   Painfully slow considering how tired his momma looked.  You could tell they wanted to play soooooo bad.  Mom stood in the yard and watched as patiently as she could as her little man escorted someone else’s little lady home.

I watched the children slowly make their way.   I watched mom never take her eyes off  of the children.

He actually walked her up to her front door.   Her dog came out and he used that as an excuse to extend his stay.   He played with and petted the dog.

Mom was standing three yards over softly saying “son…..son…..”  Though tired, I could see the joy on her face as she watched him.  I could hear her.  Son didn’t want to hear her.  She wanted him to come home.  He didn’t want to go home.  Not yet.

What does mom see?   Does she trap this moment in her heart?   Will she play it back at some point when her son is six foot tall and walking next to someone else.   Walking away to another house.  To another girl.  While she softly calls out “son….son……” with a tired but happy look on her face.

Life.