They’re both Leos, born in the heat of early August.
My son, Keegan, almost 28. My grandson, Owen, “mostly” 6, as he likes to say.
In addition to sharing the same birth month, Owen and Keegan have the same blue eyes, the same color hair, the same stance and laugh and orneriness.
They were reunited a couple of weeks ago when Owen’s dad and mama (my daughter) moved three miles from our home.
I hear my son at 6 when Owen talks and laughs; when he teases me or makes it clear he’s had enough of being the subject of a photograph.
I see my son at 6 in the way Owen stands, the narrowness of his back, his bony shoulder blades.
His zest for ringing every minute out of every day.
Today, our work behind us, Keegan and I took Owen to cool off from the 90-degree day in the “magical” waterfall just a couple miles away. Keegan dubbed it the “magical” waterfall one day when he took Owen there for a treasure hunt.
From afar, it’s beautiful, but up close the water looks like pickle juice. I waded into it, joined Owen in splashing “Uncle” Keegan while channeling my younger self, the one that spent hours playing with my friend Sherrie in a wide ditch that captured storm water behind Sherrie’s house.
Sherrie and I never worried about where the water came from or what might be in it. We just had fun.
Today, Keegan, Owen and I just had fun.
In another month, Keegan will be leaving North Carolina with his beloved for the next leg of their journey together.
I’m savoring these moments, taking them in with my eyes and heart and, occasionally, with a camera.