The writer in me is forever on alert for settings.
Deep in the forest lies a grandfather tree with dense, green moss coating its scraggly branches. It doesn’t lie alone.
Eerily creepy is the shady, dank stillness beneath a canopy of firs. The silent, electric air precedes danger. That something will happen, that the THING will jump out, hovers. It doesn’t jump. It effortlessly slithers up the back of my leg…
They are icky, sticky, slimy, and gooey, and made for little boys. It was the boys who’d run in telling me about the very large yellow spider they’d discovered on the swing set, or the white spider they’d seen, the one with a red spot. It was my boys who took great pleasure showing me the creepers, critters, and crawlers of country living.
My little boys’ playground was filled with critters, and the mother in me smiles.
I took a stroll in our yard the other day. It’s no forest, but it is park-like with country spacing and ample room to roam, run, and discover. The trees, shrubs, orchard, open spaces, grassy areas, and dense bushes abut our 23 acres of nursery, which abuts a tree farm. We live in critter country.
I moseyed, deep in thought about the two little boys who used to romp in these very bushes. I stopped cold when I saw the following. I grabbed my camera, smiled, and began filming.
I walked back to take a second peek.
And again for some still shots.
Because these are the things that make little boys smile.
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