Mylo and the Old Man sat on the Writing Porch waiting for the Boom. The evening shadows were falling. The Bull Frogs were running the scales. Earlier in the day, Mr. Beaver visited us while we cooked the salameats. He had a broad Mr. Beaver Smile on his lips and a look of hungry curiosity in his eyes. As Aaron and Jonathon worked on the salameats, the Old Man put on his phone application that identifies birds by their songs. He identified eight on this 250th birthday.

When Mr. Beaver is happy, and the eight birds are singing as well as the bullfrogs running the musical scales, you know there is hope for us. No one was looking over our shoulders nor demanding a report of the day. All is not lost…yet. We must treasure what we have. You never miss the water until the well runs dry. The sun is setting over the trees, giving them a fall-like look. The fine art of trees has changed tonight. The Old Man writes many evening blogs but has never seen this happen. The trees have taken on a multi-colored golden glow.

There is the distant sound of children laughing. Stomachs full of dad’s barbecue and soda pop. Something different is happening. There is a beautiful rainbow! The colors seem to say happy birthday…do not screw this up. You have been given a second chance. Love each other. Take care of each other. You are all in a stormy sea and owe each other a terrible loyalty. The Captain is watching.