Farmer Brown left his field, left it to David and Danny
To follow the creek to where mystery streams
Narrow in the shallows.
A creature scuttles forth, pinching and pleasing.
“What is it?” whispers David.
“A fish, a crawling fish,” says Danny,
Folding on his knees at the bank’s edge
And stretching his hand over the water,
Frightened to the pinch but thrilled to the shell,
Thick and calcified.
“Why is it?” his brother whispers,
And Danny dips his fingers in the creek, just an inch,
Enough to glimpse.
Danny’s son grasps the playpen frame, strongly pulling up,
Quickly he finds his feet while Danny turns the corner
To grab a rake.
Danny rounds back the corner; his son’s eyes grip the sky,
Full to cloud rollovers
Across autumn’s vast blue ceiling;
Then Danny sees sidewise, his father’s black hair,
An instant, like the crawfish dart.
Too quickly, my son, you yearn upward;
I turn the corner, and you’re gone.
Daily Post Prompt Giant: life looms large, yet our human connects and disconnects are fragile, fleeting.