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Dry and brittle the grass crunches beneath their feet as they fly over it. Stopping suddenly as if they can read each others’ minds, they squat down and examine the crevices that are buried beneath, the heat and lack of rain causing them to crack and pull apart. Losing interest in this they stand and run again, eyes dancing with joy, giggles and shouts tumbling out. All of a sudden, the one running in the lead stops and the rest crash into her back, she squats and exclaims over a rare treasure, a small section of a bird’s egg. They stay there for what seems like forever just squatting and looking and all a wonder at the delicacy of the jagged edged shell. On and on the morning goes, until the sun rises to a position to steal all of the shade and they mournfully make their way inside to wash their hands and get on with their day. I get out the book we are reading and they settle in, still smelling like summer, I take a moment to memorize this moment. It is an exquisite gift. Rare and priceless.