One of the last of the summer mornings happened today.  I sat under the shade of our umbrella, which is a muddy red this year instead of the usual cannery yellow, and watched the boys dig holes in the sand pit at the far edge of the yard.  Quinn, who is almost two, was startled by movement in the bushes along the back fence and stood still waiting for more. He was perched solid, but ready to retreat— a posture with the curiosity and intensity of a gargoyle and the innocence of a fountain Venus. His entire weight balanced on one foot and his skinny neck pulled long. The cool breeze shuffled the shadows and sunlight back and forth and still he just waited and watched. He didn’t know the foliage only grew a short distance back, but from his tiny height it  stretched for miles. A savage wood filled with colorful magic and at least one squirrel.