Watching reruns

Four wet paws circled the abundantly blooming red crab’s trunk. Snout raised, brown eyes searched branches.

Snout level, brown eyes beseeched four foot nothin’ thrower while inquiring, “Now what?”

Snout raised, snout level, snout raised, snout level, snout raised, snout level…..

Paws in constant motion.

Sandy crew cut, chin upturned, gazing through a mass of blooms wondering, “Now what?”

Father exits double wide automatic door and takes in the scene, removes rake from pronged wall hanger, and heads toward outstretched timber arms with a plan.

Been there a time or two myself, thought passerby. You’re going to get wet.


Life repeats before my eyes.

One family shares Sunday baseball games in which pint-sized children hit off a tee. A frisky blur of black fur lopes after each dribbled connection between bat and ball.

The young angler across the street casts time and time again--morning, noon, night, church clothes, school clothes, play clothes—the only water in sight fills a bird bath.

Nostalgic? yes

Would I go back? no

Could I do better with a second try? most likely, but that’s not how it works