You found little treasures everywhere you looked. Things you’ve never felt, seen, tasted even. Those little yellow weedy flowers were the coolest, and plucking the petals off one by one with your fat little boy fingers and gently placing them in your wagon was enough to make me cry. And I did.
I think you grew up a little that afternoon. Chasing the chickens, tormenting the dogs, licking the dirt off your hands. Playing make believe with your sticks and weeds. On your adventure to find the backyard treasure, nothing could stop you. Nothing got in your way of finding treasure. Not even the fallen tree branches, or the threat of a peck from the mean chicken. You’re a fearless little boy, Mr. Maxwell, and I lovelovelove watching you explore this world.