The boy found it easier to get onto the bench near his grandmother as she knitted pensively.

“My, my,” she said, “You have gotten taller!”

He wiggled in his seat.

“What are you making, grandmother?”

She showed him.

“I am knitting a scarf for you, my dear.”

“Why do you sew?”

She clucked her tongue and pulled a string out of its tangled brethren, “In order to leave something behind, perhaps.”

“Why do you feel the need to?”

“I’m getting older. Someday, I will be gone, and then the things I leave behind are evidence that I once lived.”

The boy thought about it.

“Perhaps you’ll understand…when you are older.”

“But I AM older now,” complained the boy.

“Of course, dear,” the grandmother responded passively.

The boy thought about it for a while in silence.

“I still don’t understand, grandmother.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You said I’d understand when I’m older, but I’m older now.”

“Are you?” she asked, snipping the string expertly and admiring her handiwork.

“Put it on,” she told him. He looked at it. It was a beanie hat.

“Grandmother,” he smiled, “It’s spring! I don’t need one of these for a while.”

“You can never be too prepared in advance,” she responded, “How was the scarf last winter?”

He fingered the worn wool fondly, “It was warm.”

She pushed the beanie at him expectantly, and he put it on. It fit nicely.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, “I almost forgot!” And he rummaged around in his backpack, before pulling out a thermos. He poured a cup for his grandmother, and handed it to her.

“It’s chilled,” he said, handing it to her, “mom made it this morning.”

She set down her tools and took hold of it, swirling the liquid around in the cup.

“Lemonade?” she inquired wryly.

The boy nodded, grinning back at her.

She tilted the cup to her mouth and drank deeply, before handing the cup back.

“Well then! Nothing like a nice cup of refreshing lemonade on a hot summer’s day.”

And she resumed knitting again. The boy stood up to stretch, before sitting down again.

“You must think it’ll be a cold winter, grandma,” he noted dryly, watching her work.

“Oh, the next winter will always be colder than you think,” she said to him, “To be prepared for it is important. Something you’ll understand someday, I think.”

The boy grimaced inwardly at her phrase again.

“Well I think I understand what you said last time,” he said.

“About what?” she asked curiously.

“About leaving something behind.”

“Did I say that?”

“Of course!” He slouched on the bench, loosening his woolen scarf with a hand.

She brushed a red leaf off her arm.

“Well, what did you understand?”

“Why we feel the need to leave something behind.”

“You do?” she asked, rubbing her wrist. She looked up at the gray skies.

“Think it might rain? My joints ache.”

He adjusted the beanie on his head and sniffed the air. It was crisp.

“More like snow, gran.”

And like a spell was cast, the first flake landed on his cheek. Surprised, he looked upwards, and the snowflakes fell silently.

The man stood up and shook open his orange umbrella, holding it over his grandmother to protect her head from the snow as she worked on a pair of gloves for him.

“Gran, we should get back. It’s cold now,” he said gently.

“Don’t you rush me, young man,” she said back at him, “These are almost done.”

He smiled and went to stand behind her, holding the orange umbrella up for her. He adjusted the frayed scarf he wore, and was surprised when a ray of light illuminated his gloves.

He looked up and saw a hole parted in those clouds, and immediately looked down again when someone pushed aside his umbrella.

His twins jumped up and down, trying to catch the last snowflake on their tongue. Both missed.

“Aww, but papa said that was the last!” complained one to the other.

He smiled, and leaned forward to hug both of them in each of his arms.

The boy and the girl both wore small scarves, cut from one large scarf that had once been his.

“There will be more,” he told his children.

“I hope so,” said the girl, “but do I have to wait for it?”

He ruffled her hair affectionately.

“A while, I think.”

The boy wailed, “But why? I don’t want to wait! I want to know what it tastes like now!”

Smiling lopsidedly, the man looked back at the breaking clouds and the sunlight that streamed through.

“When you’re older… you’ll understand.”