On Mondays, I expand on recent entries in my Gratitude Journal.
#1502. BOYS in DITCHES and TREEHOUSE
In the drainage ditch
on Milton Rd
day before Thanksgiving
I spot something
and hope it is not a dog
after some prey that has escaped him,
who now, looking up,
will come after me
for an arm or leg
and
all the people
in surrounding houses,
busy tending to Thanksgiving preparations,
will not be looking out windows
will not come to my rescue
will not even know to call 911.
I cannot believe
the mere thought
of an unknown dog running loose
still triggers fight-or-flight.
Childhood fear, that.
But dressed in camo jacket and cap,
it’s not a dog.
It’s a boy
lying low
holding some sort of long pipe or stick
meant to be his rifle or sword or laser.
Eyes barely showing under the brim of his cap,
he watches me approach
and I see
he is trusting me
not to give away his location.
Head straight -
only eyes moving -
I glance across the road
and pick out
behind a tree
two other boys -
one standing,
one crouching,
also camo-clad.
Without grinning
or nodding
or breaking stride
or acknowledging ditch-boy in any way
I continue on
listening to Life of Pi
and am a full block beyond them
before daring to smile.
There is just something about these boys
and coming upon them
and even getting to
play a part
in their battle -
“Hold your fire, old lady passing through!” -
that is pure delight.
And pure delight should be savored.
I don’t know these boys,
who they belong to,
where they live.
But on Friday
walking my loop
in the opposite direction
late in the afternoon,
sun already down behind a near hill,
not yet dark
but evening coming soon enough,
I pass two of them
walking together
weapons in hand,
likely heading home
for more Thanksgiving leftovers
and,
turning to look back,
I see them go into the yard
with the camo-painted treehouse.
Yes, yes. I should have guessed.
A match, that.
I have seen such boys in every generation – building forts, concocting plans, waging wars, being friends.
.
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