Slipping quiet through the silver only a tiny shimmer gives any notice that he's just below the surface. I stand at the edge watching my boy wash the day away. Full dark is upon us and we are sharing a secret time.
I ask if he thinks he'll still be a country boy when he grows up.
"Yeah, mom, I can do so many more things here. I have more freedom in the country. Like, we can have a swimming pool!"
Cicadas singing their chorus, moon quietly illuminating the sky, humid air pressing down, I see what he sees and I wonder at his ability to grasp big things like freedom.
It feels like stolen moments for the two of us. The day has had illness, heat, stress, and since it's Wednesday we've had another family over for fellowship/hospitality like we do every Wednesday. We should be going to bed, but I am pressed to linger.
Big gulps of air fill his lungs as he tries to set new personal records for how long and how far he can go under water. The cows watch from just the other side of the fence.
I hesitate, then say what must be said. Time to go in. Cheerfully he climbs over the side and heads into the house.
I look up to the sky wondering if I'll have words to capture the precious moments I've just been given. Honestly, I don't think I do. But I come here first to tap tap tap, and if only for a moment capture enough cues to remember how the summer night yielded up it's reward of refreshment, union of mother and son, and the country ripe with its promise of freedom for one with eyes to see.