“Play me a tune, Grandpa!”
And he surely did.
Had me enthralled for hours,
Seated at his feet on the dusty front porch.
Nothing could erase my smile,
Nor his-
A willing jukebox to an overexcited six-year-old boy.
These days,
My faint memories recall the tunes more than the tales,
His precious words long forgotten.
But every now and then
I catch myself humming
A familiar refrain. Some shard of joy to be whistled.
These are now ancient fragments. Puzzle pieces of pure gold.
That take me back,
To the happiest summers of my life.

Ezy Reading is out every month...