Honeysuckle

The backyard again. We’re outside, pushing around the mowers, watching planes drift by and otherwise just enjoying the evening. Suddenly, Simon rushes over to the fence and snatches a fistful of honeysuckle.

He looks like he knows what to do with it too. He runs up and hands me a sprout.

“You know about honeysuckle?” I ask him and he nods with a big grin on his face. It takes me a second, because it’s been years and years since I’ve properly drawn out a honeysuckle stem. But I get it, and my son waits patiently, his mouth open and hanging tongue stifling his giggle. 

“Okay, ready?”

“Uh huh.”

I slide it out, just so that little droplet of liquid pops out of the end. I set it on his tongue and he squeals with excitement. Then he takes off running around the yard, around the bush and through the swing set. A couple laps and he’s back, tongue out, waiting for more. The second time we both have some, and then we both take off running and laughing.

It’s one of the best parts about being a parent, is reliving that magic of childhood. Honeysuckle, fireflies, the morning dew of the grass on barefeet. It’s a good time, for sure.