‘Watch for him, could you?’
‘For how long, Son?’
‘Three weeks or so.’
Grandpa turns to me for my approval.
I feel my face lit as if by a campfire of night.
‘Weather should be travel-friendly.’
I help Little Son get dressed and feed him
Grandpa waves to Little Son as he gets on the school bus.
I clean the house and do the laundry, fighting heel pain.
Grandpa helps me with shopping, despite the joint pain then
At the bus stop he waits for Little Son coming home.
On the weekend, Grandpa needs to take care of Monsters at home.
Grandpa, Little Son, Big Son, and me take a road trip.
I frown at the storm cloud.
Against the windshield splash big drops,
Then it down pours.
On the road pile up softball hails.
Celestial winter game in August!
Vehicles are coward turtles, creeping over to
The shoulders, waiting for it stop, except
Big Son braves to crawl through the hailstorm.
‘Wait as others do, Son,’ I squeak.
His eyes fixed on the road, Big Son is a quiet soldier.
After infinite-hour, the hail stops.
From afar the turtles begin to follow then zoom by.
Big Son keeps it within speed limit.
The Monsters at home are taken care of.
Little Wife has returned from her trip. Duty-free,
We, old couple bid the children goodbye until next time:
‘If life plays like the weather, to give is only love.’
© Byung A. Fallgren