July.

The very beginning of July (before independence-hued fireworks).

And they were in a modest, little boat. Bobbing. At a float.

"So, it's ... I know it's not the North Atlantic sand or anything, but ... " A slow (sighing) glance around. Everything from sky to ground. To the lily pads, and the still, glassy blue of the water. Reflections of clouds, and the cattails ... acting as sentinels. Separating the pond from all the pastures that surrounded.

And her. Her.

" ... but it'll do," he continued. "Don't you think?" His voice was gentle. Around her, he spoke as if his words were eggshell walkers. High-wire performers. Softly, softly ... softly. He never raised his voice around her (even when, sometimes, things got to be TOO much ... which was probably more often than he liked) ... but, then, he was a mouse.

Loud wasn't in his nature.

And nor was it in hers. And ...

... she gave no response. Looking around. Blinking.

"Don't you think?" Field asked again. Hoping for an answer.

But only getting a slow, sure smile. A direct gaze instead ...

... and, oh, he would take it. It would do. A look like that. Communicated more than words ever could. Words were bumbling. Were stumbling, stick-legged things. Collapsing under their own weight.

"I'm really glad," Field whispered, "you're here." His tone understated. Hushed. So she'd know how much he meant it (as if she didn't already). "I mean ... I know you don't know how to swim, so ... maybe you didn't wanna come," he said, biting his lip." A pause. "But I'm really glad you're here," he repeated. Again at a whisper.

And, still silent, looking to him, wide (and googly)-eyed, her pink-purple pupils dilated (for she sat in his shadow). She looked at him. Oh, looked UP at him.

And it made the mouse's eyes water. He blinked. Breathed in through his twitching, sniffing nose. "Um ... your," he started, smiling. Faltering. Pausing. To breathe again. "Your mother's gonna be here soon."

Akira gurgle-blinked.

"I know daddy's not so much fun ... " Considering her mother had full telepathic abilities. The mouse had much weaker ones. And couldn't reach Akira ... in the same way. He trailed. Bit his lip. "I ... but, uh, it's just you and me. And the dragonflies." Pause. "Can you say dragonflies?" he asked gently.

Gurgle.

"Dragon ... flies. Dragon ... "

Gurgle-goo.

" ... flies. Mm ... your mom," Field whispered, smiling, leaning forward. "Your mom likes to catch them in jars. She eats them," he said, "when I'm not looking." Field's mate (and baby Akira's mother), Adelaide. The pink-furred bat. "Then," Field whispered, "she kisses me after she eats them ... and I get gossamer wings on my tongue!"

A giggle-chitter from her.

"It's not funny!" the honey-tan mouse insisted. And whispered, "She does it on purpose." But, still, he was smiling. Not at all minding ... his mate's sense of cheek. Her play. Her confidence and strength. Her faith. So strong, but SO feminine. And, looking at Akira, he could see parts of her. Her eyes. Her ... gleam. Her ears. Her wings. The mouse-bat having a bat's wings (and, at the moment, yellow, puffy water wings ... over her upper arms). "My winged thing," Field whispered lovingly. "I love you," he told his child. The mouse cleared his throat and closed his eyes. "Promise me," he whispered, "you'll never grow up?" He opened his eyes. And, upon doing so, they watered. "Promise me?" he whispered weakly, smiling tenderly.

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Had yet to speak her first word, and ...

" ... I know you can't," the mouse said, closing his eyes again. "I know you can't promise that. I know ... but I still had to ask." A swallow. Eyes open. "Right? You don't blame me for asking?"

The mouse-bat smiled, waving her little paws and arms about.

Field giggled, his dimples showing on his furry cheeks. "But, uh ... " A swallow. "Bugs. Mm ... Adelaide better not be feeding you bugs when I'm not looking."

Akira looked away, tiny toes and claws wriggling. Curling.

"Uh-huh." Field squinted playfully. His daughter's telepathic abilities lied somewhere between his (the low end of the spectrum) and Adelaide's (the high end). Even though she couldn't talk yet, and even though she was still a baby, she could still ... FEEL and understand certain things. Somehow ... " ... mm-hmm," Field went. "You're half-mouse, too, you know. Mouses say NO to bugs. No. No," he chided innocently. "Mm?"

Gurgle?

"Mm ... " Field's silky-thin, pink mouse tail, like a line ... raised over the edge of the boat. And dipped into the water. Creating a slight, slight ripple. And he dipped it down a foot. Another. "You think I can catch fishes," he asked with a grin, "with my tail?"

The mouse-bat clapped her paws ... missing on one of the clap-attempts.

Field giggle-squeaked. "You think? Mm?"

She watched him. Wide-eyed. At such a young age, maybe a lot more like her mother than her father (in appearance and ... developing personality). But she still had plenty of him inside her. Still had plenty of love for him ... and, watching him, she showed her little fangs. As if daring him to, yes, catch a fish! Use your tail as a lure!

"Are you sure?" Field asked, raising his furry brow. "Might be some big fishes down there ... shame your echo-bursts only work as radar, not sonar. Then we could map the underwaters of this pond. Mm?"

She tilted her head. Blinked.

Field gave a mock-sigh. "Okay. Okay, but ... if I get dragged overboard by a crawdad or a mutant minnow, you'll have to tell your mom what happened. Alright?"

No reply.

A giggle from the mouse. And he poked and swirled his tail around in the cool, refreshing water. And gave a twitch! A twitch!

The baby's eyes went totally wide.

"I think I got one," Field said, over-dramatically, and he twitched and snaked and jerked his tail about, working up a splash, and ... yanked his tail out of the water. Bringing nothing up. "Ooh ... it got away!" he insisted, looking directly at his daughter. Blue-grey eyes bright and kind and full of life. "I guess my tail's not so good a fishing line," he confided.

But the child had been fully entertained. And it hadn't mattered that he hadn't caught anything (and hadn't, in reality, even been trying). It was enough that he said he had ... enough that he was here to do so.

The sun was warming them both. Was soaking into their fur. It was in the mid-80's, and there was a slight breeze ... and a few clouds. The big, puffy, fluffy clouds. The kinds that looked like islands in an inverted sea. Before they'd rowed out here, the mouse had tenderly rubbed sun lotion onto the baby's ears and tail. And she'd messily done the same for him (in the end, he'd had to do it himself ... but hadn't minded).

Field let out a breath. Closing his eyes. To have fur, and to be in such heat ... it was like soaking the sun. Many furs preferred fall. Preferred winter, but ...

... this was when life was at full flower. And it was never too warm to handle.

Akira moved her little body back and forth a bit. Rocking the boat back and forth (a bit).

"Hey," Field chided, smiling softly. "You don't wanna do that."

She waved her winged arms.

"I know you have FOUR wings," he said, poking at her water wings (which were fitted over those winged arms ... in such a way that her filmy, pliable wings were a bit scrunched). "But I'd rather not go for a swim. Not in here." They both had swimsuits on, but not to swim with. But just because it was so warm.

Eyes wide.

"No ... there are leeches. And you can't see the bottom," he explained. "Maybe we can go to your grandmother's pool tomorrow. After church." The breeze ruffled the honey-tan fur on the mouse's bare chest. And he breathed deeply in. Thinking that, perhaps, he could honestly feel God in his lungs. In that air.

Akira didn't understand, but ... made a head motion anyway. Bobbing a bit.

The mouse smiled. And his dishy, pink ears swivelled. "Mm ... " More swiveling. "Hear that?" he whispered. Hearing a croaking sound. But not a frog. Not a toad. "Great blue heron," he whispered. And, reaching to the floor of their little, rocking boat, he scooped up his daughter. Sat her on his lap. "See?" he mouthed into her semi-angular, swept-back ears. "See?"

The heron, the stalk-like water bird. A great hunter. It was on the far bank of the pond. Standing on one webbed foot. Needled bill pointed about. And eyes wide. And gold. Pupils black. Watching ...

The mouse swallowed. Surprised it hadn't flown away from them. But maybe it hadn't seen them. He hugged his daughter close. She wriggled a bit, trying to get a better view.

The bird stalked, stalked ...

... and went still, still, still!

And ...

... struck!

Splash!

Coming up with a frog, and flap-flapping away from the shore. Up and over the cattails.

"Ooh," went Field, both out of deference for the frog AND the heron.

Akira chittered.

"No, he doesn't eat bats," the mouse assured, stroking her little wings with his paw. "No," he whispered. "And, if anyone DID eat bats ... or, excuse me, bat-MOUSES," he corrected, smiling protectively, "they would have to get through me first. Cause no one's ever gonna hurt you. Not if I can help it," he whispered. Knowing that, someday, she would get older. Go to school. Eventually, would leave. Would experience loneliness and heartbreak and ...

... everything necessary for maturity and growth.

Everything.

How he wished to keep her from that! From every pain and every stray, hurtful word.

And how he was totally resigned to the fact that, no, he couldn't. And how that terrified him. It really did.

He just had to hold on, now, while he could. Comfort her always. And care for her ... whether she was near or far. Young or old. He would always be her father. And she would always be his daughter.

And he would always love her. More than any sort of poem could proclaim.

A sloshing sound. Something moving through the water.

And Field and Akira's heads both turned ...

... to see Adelaide, smiling, standing in the muddy shallows. Where the water was about a foot deep. She had a straw sun hat on. And her swimming suit. Not to pond-swim with, but ... just to sun her fur. In the summer, fur tended to bleach a bit lighter ... and it would return to its darker, thicker colors when the cold came.

"Hey," Field whispered. Full of yearning. Full of love.

"Hey, too," she replied. With equally stargazing eyes. "Mm ... room for one more?" she asked, motioning that he should row the boat back to shore. To let her in.

"I suppose," Field sighed playfully. Winking at Akira, and gently setting her back down on the bottom of the boat, where she sat, rocking a bit. "I suppose," he said again, louder, "we can find SOME room."

"Oh, you SUPPOSE, do you?" Adelaide giggle-chittered.

"Mm-hmm." The mouse started rowing the boat back. The water sloshing and rippling. Creating gentle, liquid sounds.

"I brought lunch," the pink-furred bat announced, holding up a basket.

"And dragonflies for dessert?" the mouse teased.

"Nice try, darling. Like I'm gonna admit if I put them in your cookies ... oops." And a grin. "I'm ONLY joking," she assured, showing her fangs and tilting her head. In both a romantic and lusty gesture.

"I'm sure," Field replied with quiet mirth. He'd have to nose-sniff his cookies thoroughly, then, before he ate them. Just to be sure. Which, no doubt, would give her an excuse to tease him about smelling all his food before he ate it (as mouses do).

"So, you enjoying your day trip?" his mate asked.

"Day sail," he replied. Even though their boat had no sail. "Day SAIL ... "

"Ah, day sail ... well ... is it a good one?"

"Come sail with us," the mouse said, reaching the shallows. Extending a paw. "Come and find out," he whispered.

And the bat, leaning forward, head tilting, gave him a promising, heated kiss. And broke it. Licking her lips as she pulled away. "I make it a point never to turn down invitations from handsome, yiffy field mouses ... especially when they're so dear to my heart."

Field beamed brightly, ears flushed. As Adelaide clambered aboard.

And as they rowed back into the pond's middle. Into the middle of a summery, Hoosier day. Which smelled of earth and of hay.

To have a picnic and a sun-soak on the water. As a family.