his favorite thing is to sit alone on the grass. he quietly runs his hands over it, picks at it, pulls up longer strands, tears them to teeny bits, & begins again. it's as though he is trying to know the very essence of the grass.
usually we'll find a lovely bit of grass, or a teensy stick, clutched tightly in his hand long after we've come indoors.
the day i took these photos he wanted nothing to do with me & my pesky camera. i was trying to get some good shots of his face, for far-away relatives, but he would have none of it. we were intruders, my camera & i.
finally i gave up trying, & left him to indulge his love of mother nature. i wasn't the least bit jealous that he preferred her to me. well, perhaps a bit...