The boys are bored and bothering each other. “Everyone put boots on and go out back!” I banish them with an abrupt order. Beneath the abundant beaming rays of sun, the boys begin to blossom. They imbibe the fresh air, taking deep breaths of the balmy afternoon breeze.
Then they break—each one obliged to obey their own beckoning impulses, oblivious to inhibition. Footwear becomes too cumbersome for the job so boots are abandoned for bare feet. The babble of voices bubbles across the backyard.
The baby climbs aboard the bicycle—his toes barely brushing the blades of grass. He bounces above the bike beaming with infant pride.
Jonas begins by bothering the bantams. The band of birds scatters in defense, but Jonas breaks through the barricade and grabs a baby chicken, tossing the bundle over his shoulder--exhibiting his trophy around the backyard like a tribute bestowed upon him for bravery.
The hole Owen's been digging by the old battered boat is unmistakably bigger than before. His brain is busy contemplating his make-believe obligation. Satisfied, he buries his feet beneath the brown dirt.
Any passing object could become the new beneficiary of the obsessive attention of three little boys. Birds, bees, butterflies and bunny rabbits each take a turn bisecting the yard, bringing momentary bedlam, which usually ends as abruptly as it began as the boys go back about their own business.
It’s abominable to head back indoors but as blue above begins to darken and slow blinks begin to linger longer—I know it’s time to beckon my little boys in for a quick bath before bedtime. The boisterous noises ebb as the boys break for the night. Owen lags behind, a little caboose, hesitant to leave his personal arboretum of bliss. “Don’t be sad,” I bolster his spirits, “The fun will be back again with daybreak.”