Sunbathing 

on a moss 

slathered rock,

I watched

 the

children search for 

me with desperation.     Just one little nibble, one quick snap, I pondered.

    Stories wiggled       through their minds reminding them of        my lurking 

  presence below. I admired how cautiously

they doused the tips of their toes on the top of the  

            water, creating ripples that sent tiny fish ushering under

              the pier. I won’t hurt them, I thought, as I dove beneath the parallel

 bottoms of the younglings feet. Meticulously dipping and purposeful swirls

of happy feet. Just an introduction, I crept back onto my rock untouched and

unharmed. I stalked them until the sun touched the tops of the trees,

when the children took the rickety rowboat and fishing gear out on 

the pond. The belittled body of water settled into a flattened paradise,

where the seaweed looked frozen still underneath. We

listened for the rhythmed splashing of a reeled-in catch,

   debating what fish next would be snatched next.  

When the crickets belted their traditional song,

                 I heard the hum of voices at night. It fluttered

                       melodically with the bonfire flames that lit the night.

I etched onto the seat of my rock,

listening to the stories revealed

at night coated with 

      laughter     and nostalgia. Life’s wonder painted       the blades

       of grass             and gleamed 

      into the     night.