Three little words chosen at random are used to make a story.
No pool in our yard, thank you very much. Perhaps we were cowards, but we feared the responsibility of young children and non-swimming adults. One fall in would be a disaster if no one noticed. We could not handle such a disaster, the grief, or the regret.
The yard, covered by dirt, tempted us to plant a lawn. Green would be cool and pretty. We sprinkled the special south-west grass seed, carefully, gently water so it never dried out, and we’ve grown flocks of hungry birds. Not a blade of grass has appeared.
The yard does amaze one. The dying 50 year old grapefruit tree has no green leaves this year, only empty branches, but only on one side. The other part of the tree sends ripe grapefruit to dot the lawn yellow here and there. That part of the tree is alive with heavenly scented white blossoms and growing wee green balls – to be grapefruit come the holiday season six months off.
The front yard collects white, new, signed baseballs. No one plays baseball in the neighborhood. But inside the house we hear an occasional bump, thud. In the morning the front lawn is dotted with white new baseballs, official league signed baseballs.
So much for pool, dirt and yard. They fit!