The rain drizzled down all around us, as we played under the pear and plum trees. No blossoms left on them, or the apple or cherry trees; instead the horse chestnut a few yards over is in full bloom and our lilac is an explosion of purple and perfume. We investigated the sprouting gardens our downstairs neighbours have planted, and I identified carrots, peas, beans, lavendar, tomatoes, lettuce, and strawberry plants for Cameron. In one of the fence-side beds, still left wild, orange California poppies dripped miserably, looking cold.
Until they got smushed flat by the grey foot of an elephant.
The yard was suddenly a rather crowded place, what with five winged elephants intent on stomping. We squealed and giggled and dashed amongst them.
And yet, the vegetable garden seemed safe.
I had to ask, “Why aren’t you stomping on the vegetables?”
An elephant showed Cameron the sharp, pointy rocks that define the border between lawn and growing suppers. The rocks hurt their feet.
(It seems Cameron has picked up on my usage of elephants to explain his most rediculous whys, and a herd of them, complete with wings for some reason, have joined our ecosystem. Seriously. At least the frogs could hide in the trunk of a car or in my purse. How’re we gonna get around the city with five winged elephants, three well-behaved lions, and three super-bouncy frogs?)