Plucking seeds of whirling dandelions swirling through the gleaming sun, tickled by the wind.
Brushing down the pathway, blushing at the stroke of the nettles that nip.
Tomorrow runs round the open space of triangles, swings and grass that's dry, kicking planks of dry wood that's not for brushing.
Furry oak leaves fell, early, not autumn.
Worried that tomorrow aforementioned may utilise the discarded planks to beat their companions and my grandson bears witness to such destruction.
Tomorrow and his companions try to demonstrate annihilation of tinder.
And I wonder, staring on in absolute awe that my gorgeous grandson has not seen this before.
Tomorrow is our future, bored maybe.
I hope he doesn't follow suit.
He's two, his mum is protective...I can only hope he stays as wonderful as he is.
(C) LIVVI