Old man winter is not dead yet, but all he can muster now is the feeble wave of a fast expiring finger- an attack that is laughable to all but the most delicate of newly-planted flowers. Of course, the aftermath of his demise may have us occasionally wearing jackets for a week or two yet, but jacket weather just heightens the glory of short-sleeve shirt weather.

Each visit of the sun grows longer as day takes and night gives in the seasonal tug-of-war that is life on earth. Which is cool, because now when I get home, Isaiah, Ruth, and I can all go for a good walk together (as has become our frequent practice) and yet return home while the sun's rays are still shifting from white to buttery gold as he nestles into the horizon.

Isaiah likes these walks. If he is awake when I get home, I am usually greeted with:
"Hi, Daddo! I can go for a walk!"

The phrase "I can" is an Isaiah-ism meaning "can I" or "let's" with a hopeful connotation such as:

"Come on, Son, it's time to go, we're going to be late."
"I can zoom the Scout!"
"No, We're going in the van."
"I can drive the van!"
"No, your legs aren't long enough to reach the pedals- come on."

it must be pointed out, though, that the fact that Isaiah requested the walk in the first place doesn't stop him from wanting to go back home a block from the house...

"Let's go home, please, Daddo."
"No, we're not going home. We just started our walk. Why do you want to go home, Boy?"
"Play my toys, Daddo."

Once, however, his request is denied, he always finds renewed interest in the world around him. It is quite a delight to me to hear him point out with observant note such details as the sticks and rocks and dirt that make up the world of a little boy, but which as we grow older become invisible to us. Seeing through his eyes as he describes his world to me allows me to relive or at least to fondly remember a time when a rock was quite a neat thing indeed.

I'm looking back to what I was and looking forward to what my son will be.