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His young back bends
In the hot Californian sun
I grin as the weak wind brings to me
His muttered complaints
He wields the hose
Like a weapon
He tries to drown my plants
So I will let him go inside
Still I persist
"This is fun, isn't it?"
He rolls his eyes
He's ten going on twenty-five
I chuckle to myself
One day he'll remember
And he'll smile on this day
He'll thank me
He'll remember mom
With every garden he sees
With every flower he smells
And one day it will comfort him
He'll remember hunting
For little fish in swollen rivers
He'll remember whistling birds
Down from the trees
He'll tell his children
About how their gran
Could catch live mice and lizards
Just as good as any old cat
He'll remember these days
And he'll smile
And he will wish with all his heart
That there had been more of them
And so will I.
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This is heartwarming stuff, Kat. 'He'll remember mom with every garden he sees'... so true, so true. And yet little boys never believe that until they're grown up and those days are long gone. This is brilliant.
