Oscar, Sunshine and the Caterpillar

Sometimes I will take a blanket outside and spread it out on the lawn and Oscar will join me on the blanket and we will lounge together. 

Sometimes he will look like a pear with a fuzzy tail as he plops his bum down on the blanket and stares off into the distant blue sky. 

Sometimes I'll bring art out with me and I'll turn on an audio book, usually a mystery, and Oscar and I will wonder whodunit while I paint pictures in the sun.

Sometimes a little caterpillar will join out petite, foodless picnic, crawling across my drawing, maybe mistaking the green illustrated leaves as real leaves that perhaps he could munch upon as he gathers momentum toward building a cocoon. 

But he couldn't munch these make-believe leaves. He had to move on, across the pictures to real leaves. Somewhere in his future he'd be a butterfly, too wise to ever mistake an illustrated leaf for the real thing, to high on the joy of flying to remember being anything other then who he is in that very second.