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Playing with knives

His request came out of nowhere.

We were killing time at his old brother’s soccer practice screwing around in the woods by the soccer fields.

He picked up a stick and began chopping at the trunk of a small tree.

“I’m going to cut this tree down,” he said, determination rolling off his tongue like white foam on a big wave. I was about to give him my lecture on pantheism but I reminded myself he is merely a boy of six and they’ll be time for those conversations later. Besides, he was going to get nowhere with the blunt end of the stick he was wielding.

“I need to sharpen this,” he said to me and then began to rub it on the bark of a fallen tree. “Um, I’m not sure that’s going to work for you dude,” I said.

“Yer right,” he said in agreement.

“I wish I had a pocket knife,” he said.