The Riddle of Summer

Arthur sat on his back porch, watching the storm clouds gather like old friends returning for tea. At seventy-eight, he'd learned that weather, like memory, has its own stubborn timing.

"Grandpa, what's a sphinx?" His granddaughter Lily balanced on the pool's edge, her baseball glove tucked under one arm like a precious secret.

Arthur smiled. In his day, children asked about sandlot legends or how to hit a curveball. Now they asked about ancient riddles.

"The sphinx was a guardian," Arthur said, his voice gravelly with decades of unspoken stories. "Sat outside Egyptian cities asking travelers the same question: What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?"

Lightning cracked across the sky — quick, bright, gone before the thunder could catch its breath. Like the years, Arthur thought. Like the years.

"Man!" Lily shouted, splashing into the pool. "Babies crawl, grown-ups walk, old folks use canes!"

Arthur's heart swelled. She was clever like her grandmother had been, sharp as a well-turned double play.

"Your grandmother taught me that answer," Arthur said, remembering the summer of 1962. "We were at a community pool much like this one. She was reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology. I was trying to impress her with my baseball statistics."

"Did it work?" Lily paddled over, dripping and earnest.

"She told me if I could solve the sphinx's riddle before summer's end, she'd let me walk her home." Arthur's eyes crinkled. "Took me three months, but I got there."

"And you walked her home?"

"Walked her home every day for fifty-two years," Arthur said softly. "Until last winter, when she needed that third leg — the cane."

The rain began, gentle at first, then harder. They sat watching the water ripple around them, lightning painting momentary masterpieces across the darkening sky.

"Grandpa?"

"Yes, sugar?"

"What's the answer to life's riddle?"

Arthur considered. The sphinx had been destroyed, but its question endured. We all start helpless, grow strong enough to stand alone, and eventually — if we're lucky — lean on those we love.

"Love," Arthur said finally. "It walks beside us on however many legs we've got."

Lily nodded solemnly. Then, with a child's perfect timing, she added: "Also, you should teach me to throw a curveball."

Arthur laughed. The sphinx would have approved. Some riddles, like love and baseball, span generations.