Be Not...

There is a bit of simple serenity when jaunting through the woods after a summer rain.  Behind me, trails the dog; nose feverishly smelling for a trail that may lead to some grand find...and my son.  He's seven and as such, has a capacity for language that I don't quite recall having at such an age.  It may be that the synapses are firing much more quickly than his gum-filled mouth has time to speak, or that he's simply a spontaneous conversationalist.  As it was, we trod in our flip-flops with but one, small hand trowel and the want to find a native plant that might suit our myriad of gardens in the manicured landscape of a back yard. 
The hound happened to sniff out a plethora of deer droppings and skittered away whenever a branch would snap, or a leaf would rustle and my son only seemed to find every poison ivy plant that exists this side of the reservoir.  Nevertheless, it was serene.  Imagining a time when the worries of parenthood and adulthood might be behind me, I figured that there is cause to stop and take in the space around.  As much as the days take up the time for working, the evenings following supper time are somewhat of a lost art form.  Although it did work to our advantage that dinner came earlier tonight, rather than the usual 8pm time frame that we have to work with.
Lovey and I spoke of instituting the much-sought-after summer delight of "Sunday Sundaes" again.  A wonderful idea brought on by none other than Grandma -- Sunday sundaes are just that...a call to all family members to Grandma and Grandpas on Sunday afternoon, armed with a sundae topping of choice.  Grandma supplies the ice cream and among eight siblings and significant others, we cover the gooey, chocolatey, nutty goodness (whipped cream too!).  So, after the search for greenery I'm thinking that there must be the priority of making up for lack of Sunday sundaes and make the times for jaunting ~ flip flops, or not.