A warm sunny day,

with a walk in the backyard.

We collect —

the petals from red roses,

the new lime green leaves from off of a trumpet vine,

a collection of clippings from the lawn.

Bring out the crayons, to color in the sky, the grass, the trees, the bright yellow sun;

a black cat, made as special as a 4-year-old can do it.

Then the watercolors—

One brush means girls must learn to take turns.

The rinsing cup gets more color than the white letter-sized paper.

The black cat turns dark green.

The water in the cup turns chocolaty brown.

Monet would be envious.

 

.Next glue down the petals from roses, the leaves from the trumpet vine, and the grass clippings,

and last, pretty colored feathers.

Papa tells the girls these are special—

from the wings of beautiful magical fairies.

He gets a hug from his little red-haired four-year-old.

 

Time to let it dry in the sun while we have fun in the park.

Little two-year-old sister walks hand in hand with her Papa.

Big sister rides her scooter all the way there.

The red slide is too hot,

The helical green tunnel slide is just right.

Time for the youngest to learn to be more independent.

Papa sits by and lets it happen.

The cool morning day is dipped like a painting with—

new memories of a happy watercolor day,

pressed beneath the weight,

of a1909,

Webster’s New International Dictionary.

The weight of time presses down on

fairy winged memories.

I open the front of the book to see a black and white lithograph—

Noah Webster looking back at me from more than a hundred years.

I am sure—

this wordy old papa would have smiled more

if he could have had a watercolor day of his own.