Silas walked through the kitchen humming one of his favorite songs. Dragging his hand along the refrigerator, he looked out the window and pointed. “Leaf,” he said.
Turning to the window, his grandpa Duane said, “Yes, leaf. Many leaves.” He stressed each word so the lad could hear the difference, Then Silas spied his rake. Immediately, he repeated, “Rake, rake, outside, outside, outside.” Grandpa said, “You have to wait a minute. You need your shoes.”
“Shoes, shoes, boots, boots.”
“Yes, yes, come here little boy.”
Silas grabbed his boots and held them up to Duane as he stepped closer. One of the boots slipped from Silas’s grasp and he said, “Oops! Mess, mess.”
Grandpa Duane smiled. The boy was becoming quite the chatterbox. He loved saying words he knew and being outside with his grandpa. With his boots on, Silas reached for the doorknob but couldn’t turn it let alone fully reach it. When Duane stretched out his hand to the door, Silas retrieved his and, excitement building, moved back to allow the swinging door to open.
Silas stepped to the threshold and reached for his grandpa’s hand. He repeated, “Hand. Hand.” Once the little fingers wrapped around his grandfather’s pinkie, Silas stepped outside. With both feet firmly on the ground, Silas started toward his rake. Again, he hummed a melody as he walked. He was in nature and he soaked it in. Hearing a distant noise, Silas stopped and looked in that direction. It was the garbage truck somewhere in the neighborhood.
The little boy turned to Duane, pointed in the direction of the truck, and said, “Truck, truck. Big truck.”
“Yes, big truck, isn’t it?”
Whenever the garbage men came to empty the trash cans, Silas wanted to watch. Any time he saw a truck or bus, Silas was in awe. Duane watched as Silas listened. He expected Silas to request going out of the back yard to watch the trucks. Instead, the boy moved again to his rake. It was a plastic toy rake. He held the long pole in the center. When he raked the leaves and pine straw, Silas made short choppy motions. He favorite way to rake was to dismantle the piles his grandfather already made.
Duane wordlessly stood watching Silas scatter leaves, pine cones, and pine straw from one of his piles. Yes, he would have to rake it again. Still, watching his grandson’s joy was priceless.
