Water burbled around the bend as I stood among the grass. Voices spoke over the stream as a wasp buzzed past my head.
Voices called from above my head, hidden behind stalks of weeds. “Michael! Michael come back here!”
A giggle snuck from between my lips as I lifted pudgy hands to the sky. Above me, the sky turned brilliant white against crisp blue. Youth was upon my two-foot frame, a drop in the age of this world. But a voraciousness permeated my mind and I drove forward.
“Richard go get him! He’s too close to the water!” It was my mother’s voice that propelled me on. Her tone would have given older ears pause, but recklessness of the innocent ruled my mind.
And as I tripped over root and stone, my laughter sprayed towards the sky. Behind me came my father’s growl as his hands so strong closed around me.
“Gotcha kiddo!” He said with a laugh and tossed me into the air.
Beyond his smiling face, I beheld a pitched roof and beyond mountains so old. I could not comprehend the timeless scene as my eyes blinked back the sun. So clutched, did I, to my father’s chest. Safe, secure, and loved.