Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
The Sounds Of Spring
by Wayne Scheer
Spring is a good time to be alive and living in Atlanta. Oak trees filled with tiny green buds leaf out overnight while azaleas and dogwoods bloom colors so vibrant you swear they can be seen from outer space. Daffodils and tulips, pansies and irises show yellows and reds, purples, and pinks as if Jackson Pollack had dripped paint over a green canvas.
My wife and I sat on a park bench watching our grandchildren, eight, ten, and twelve, run and climb with the joy that comes from muscles that don't ache and a firm belief in immortality.
Birds chirped and dogs barked, as children laughed and screamed for attention. Our eight-year-old granddaughter called to us to watch as she, on her belly, spun herself on a contraption that looked like it might be used to torture prisoners if it weren't painted bright orange. Our grandson, the middle child, hung upside down from the top of the monkey bars, holding on with his legs. We did our best to keep from running to him.
The oldest granddaughter played tag with a group of kids her age.
I leaned back, reached for my wife's hand, lost in the moment.
She heard it first. I could tell by the way she tensed her hand and turned her head. If she had ears like a dog, they would have been standing up straight.
"Listen to what?" She was looking in the direction of the twelve-year-old, who was laughing and shouting, "Jason, you're it!" I watched her whack the poor kid on the shoulder.
"Don't you hear it?"
I knew from the smile on her face nothing was wrong. But what did she hear?
"Stop being a grandpa for a second and listen."
I concentrated on the sound coming from our granddaughter. It took a few seconds. Then I heard it. The sound was unmistakable.
"My God, that's a girl-giggle."
"Yep. She's flirting. I'd guess with the tall boy in the white tee-shirt."
"What should we do?"
"Nothing we can do. It's spring."
Wayne Scheer has locked himself in a room with his computer and turtle since his retirement. (Wayne's, not the turtle's.) To keep from going back to work, he's published hundreds of short stories, essays and poems and has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net.
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