Silver Lining

The soft drumming on the leaves echoes in my ears as I stand and look down. The air is moist and warm. The sweet scent of just-cut grass floats in the air; I can still hear the grass cutter’s engine coughing brutally behind my back. I was supposed to do the work this morning, but instead I found my steps bringing me behind the trees bordering the yard, way up to the river bend. All I see from here are the viridian green trees. And the steady ol’ Flint.

Here is where we used to come for picnics with mom, years ago when I was just a little boy.

Before slipping away I stocked my pockets with sweet homemade candies. Butterscotch and vanilla. Auntie Sarah brought them yesterday. They taste almost like mom’s.

But only almost.

The toffee melts in my mouth as I watch the peaceful water coursing through the valley. The river curves and bends the landscape and finally disappears, but it doesn’t die.

I’d like to think that is the way with us too.

The candy’s sweet, yet bitter taste lingers in my mouth. And I smile. I think next time I’ll bring my kids here to see the Flint.

I know mom would have liked that.