The grandkids, a.k.a the varmints, are to spend some more time afield with me this year. I plan to share some of that in following posts. I took a walk alone a few weeks ago consciously reminiscing my own childhood, my children's, and trying to tune myself for the interaction with the next generation.
A drizzly day, some shots of our playground.
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Maybe I am not alone.
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The next two are foreigners, planted by my Fathers hands.
An Asian Pear
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And the Burning Bush
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The pear draws the deer and coons, the burning bush draws the bearded birds.
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Past the brambles
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And the Kool-Aid stand
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Another foreigner planted by my Fathers hands
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I stray for a moment and think of vino
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The remnants of a fort built by my children, their parents. I forget how to pick who's a cowboy and who's an Indian, I'm sure they will show me.
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We do share the playground
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I head for the Ol' Timers. Just think of all the children's laughter these guys have heard.
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I can see them tasting the sweet droplets
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The Beech done well this year
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I make my way to the pond, where I, their parents, and they caught the first fish. I'm alone and calm, but anxious for their company.
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