See Me Climb

As a mom with an avidly adventurous son who has lately requested that we rename him one of the following:

• Adventurer Puck
• Detective Puck
• Mischief Puck

…and with the gracious gift of a car left in the driveway, we hit the park. Good thing, too, because while today’s high is etched as 83, tomorrow’s aims to plummet by thirty degrees.

On the way, we drove past a pedestrian crossing sign.

“Mama,” Puck looked at me skeptically in the rearview mirror. “I’m afraid… those people are naked.”

“What’s that?”

“On the sign. They don’t have eyes or pants or shirts or underwear. They should put eyes on them.”

Puck had additional thoughts from Wednesday night’s game as The Bear clicked the new Chieftain’s album on his iPod on that sleepy ride home with a few paper sheaves of Steak ‘n Shake shoestring fries. Puck slurred out a few notes on Lance Berkman’s “last” walk to the plate…

“Well, Mama. You thought that was Lance Berkman. But really, it was… a Big Foot.”

Puck spent a blissful hour orchestrating pre-K strangers in a mad hunt for diamonds through mole hills, and was awarded fresh blueberries in exchange for his explorer spirit. They tore up a larger portion of the park grounds than I think the ranger, or the moles, appreciated. But when the call to explore bites, what can you do?

Lunch arrived with a predictable cascade of pineapple juice across the table. Butter fingers, my son.

By another perfect evening – cool breeze, lilac light blending into a darker blue, Puck climbed the tree a branch higher than usual to once again attempt a retrieve of the old birds nest. I eventually lifted it for him by aid of dead branch, given that he would have to tightrope his way to get it himself.

The Bear blazed up the drive shortly later with Puck perched proudly still in the limbs, red wellies contrasting the night. Inside for cold chicken sandwiches and The Hardy Boys, as the wind started to carry on in the dark.

It would be cold by morning.