The Commute Home

The boys climbed up the hill, which was set at an incline of about 40 degrees. Both carried a skateboard — one had his tucked beneath his arm, and the other held his by the truck — and each of their free arms served purposeful for balance. Although the brush hadn’t grown in yet, save the actual date and edging toward the cusp of winter’s end, spring’s start, the natural collage of various-sized rocks with new and decaying twigs or thick tufts of branches proved soft-spoken (and passive aggressive) obstacles.

Monday’s workday end conclusion not harbor brittle feelings and gusty responses. Winter will soon go into a hibernation of His own fashion. The sun’s shining seemed unfamiliar, but welcoming. The accepting decision was made possible by a coaxing, soft-yet-prominent light flicking breeze.

Somewhere in Ithaca.
Somewhere in Ithaca.

The two stood successfully at the top of the low-lying apex, which still offered a clear view of miles. The pause they shared wasn’t one of indecision, but it was of admiration. There will be clearer and warmer days ahead — it’s just simply the part of the cycle, albeit the inclement weather shouldn’t be written off. At least the excitement could be seen on the horizon, and tonight its aesthetic explosion dyed the sky with a soft orange hue.

Which direction of the tracks do they follow? The answer was southwest.

These days and early evenings were definitely anticipated and appreciated as a kid, especially (and in regard to this situation) while in the early teenage years. Summer was anticipated. Shorts were always broken out to be broken in again when 50- or 55-degree days appeared.

Whether the youths were killing time before dinner or prolonged accomplishing homework or avoided any shred of growth-yielding responsibility to simply fulfill the obligation of being kids is not up to anyone except themselves to figure out.

Meanwhile, outside of work…

Their conversation was quiet, and the conversational tone and volume came across as whispers. Where they were going — not important to us.

My curiosity stands with theirs. Where part of me wants to relive those innocent years, the other part, of course, does not. The curiosities, however, will hopefully stay and be focused on the present and future — what lies in front of me literally and figuratively.

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