Catching fireflies on an August evening after running through the sprinklers. This comes to mind as I try to recall the name of a flower. Color flows, as I see the flower with that bumble bee mom always liked. Covered in pollen, staying clear of the sprinkler drops, it held me captivated there, watching it select another flower. My sister and brother's laughter didn't seem to bother him.
Mom whispered in my ear as she toweled me off. “He's your friend,” she whispered, tickling my ear with her breath. He gives us plums and the green apples that had spoiled my dinner. Not so spoiled that I passed on a piece of upside down plum cake though...
With clean dry t-shirts on, Mom sliced a piece of cake and drug Francis and I over to Mrs. Linster. It was my first time being invited into Mrs. Linster's living room. Mom sat down at the piano and led Francis and I in a very rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. Sportie joined in, his barking had us all laughing. We talked and played with Sportie. I apologized for some of the questions I had... If Mrs. Linster is one hundred, she might have known Wild Bill Hickok.
Leaving, Sportie continues his barking as we cross the street back over to our house. I can still see Dad doing his crosswords and Pat and Mike at the dining room table putting a puzzle together as we pass under the streetlight. Cathy is already in bed.
Painting is slow with these visits I make. The banging of the screen door doesn't bring the name of the flower to me nor does Dad's asking for another piece of cake. Time to clean off my palette and wash my brushes. How is it there is green paint in my ear?
