During the first six years of Chris’ life, he often visited his mother’s parents. Chris enjoyed time at his Morris grandparents’ house. They also lived in San Diego closeby, but visiting them still usually entailed an overnight stay. Chris had his own room there.
“Better shut this window before you get in bed,” his grandpa said.
“Why?” Chris asked.
“Wild horses. You don’t want to go to sleep with an open window. Wild horses could gallop right up and stick their heads in your bedroom.”
Would this be dangerous? Young Chris was slightly nervous, wondering. Chris’ mother rushed in. She comforted Chris and scolded her father.
“Why that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,” Jan told them. “There aren’t any wild horses around here.”
Despite the occasional teasing comments, Chris has nothing but happy and fond memories of his grandfather.
The land around the Morris’ house was dry and sandy. There certainly seemed insufficient growth to sustain wild horses - had there been any wild horses around. Nothing much grew in the dusty soil. Usually.
Rain was scarce in southern California. When rain came, though, water transformed the landscape. Just a day or two later, brilliant flowers covered the earth. All around the Morris house, a carpet of color covered over the ground. Chris was enchanted.
Chris remembers roaming through the wildflowers, selecting the brightest blooms to pick for his grandmother. The stems were so short and soft. It was a challenge to make a good bouquet.
I love visualizing pre-school, curly-headed, Chris soaking up San Diego sunshine. I can see him being quite adored by his grandparents and trotting through post-rain magic, picking flowers.
No comments:
Post a Comment