Pap Just Is

I was on the other side of the porch

as my grandfather,

                         Pap...

was painting the railing 

a deep cherry 

stain.

His brush strokes 

following a gentle

up

and 

down

like a septuagenarian 

Karate Kid. 

Then,

he pauses

and moves down

a few rails.

Leaving two

unpainted.

I moved in closer

and inspected.

Sitting in between the two rails

was a grasshopper.

                              Young grasshopper...

Sitting and watching.

"Hey there fella,"

Pap said.

The grasshopper said nothing.

It just sat 

and watched.

When Pap reached the end of the railing,

he stood in front of unpainted portion

and waited

in silence.

The wind picked up

and the air felt good.

It was spring

and 72 degrees

on the outskirts of Lebanon, Pennsylvania. 

When the wind died down,

the grasshoppers jumped, 

and fluttered back into the field.

Then Pap picked up his brush,

and finished painting.

"He was awful curious,"

said Pap.

"Can't blame a fella for wanting to know

what the old timer is up to."

As I looked out at the waving blades of grass

in the field,

I saw no trace 

of the curious guest.

And,

a few minutes later,

the rails all looked the same.