The most precious thing about life is sometimes found in the simplest things.
The other day I finished work early enough to take my granddaughters to the park for swings and slides time. They were so excited to go.
Not more than a mile away from their house, the eldest who is three next week says,
"Nonnie! The trees are turning colors."
One would never think a person this young would actually take note that the leaves in the woods are no longer just green. So I said,
"Yes, they are getting ready for winter."
"The trees are vewy pretty now. Ooooo - look at that wed one."
And as we motored on a couple of miles down the road toward the park she saw a medical office with yellows, reds and some brown too.
"There's a 'lellow' one Nonnie. Why is it lellow?"
The color "lellow" only looses favor to purple ... or pink. Now she wants me to explain why all the other ones were red. She is smart but she is still only 3.
"Its a different kind of tree, honey. Some turn yellow, some orange and other trees turn red before they loose their leaves."
"Yes," she says, "I remember. No more sunny summer days, trees have no more leaves."
She's a pickle this one. Like how does she remember the week before she turned 2?
"But spring will come and the flowers will all open in the trees before they get new green leaves again."
"I love fowers Nonnie. 'Specially the 'licious smelling ones. You have 'licious fowers at your home."
"The purple one on the steps?" No need to ask really she smells it constantly.
"Yes, that poople one is my favorite. Are we almost at the park? I want to slide. Not the baby slide Nonnie, I a big girl now. There's a stop sign. 'Member to look both ways, Nonnie."
The stop sign is new. She has learned this in the last week.
"When you see the little yellow school busses, we will be almost to the park."
"Yes. Then we turn on other road. Will there be 'lellow' trees at the park, Nonnie? I like the 'lellow' ones best. 'Lellow' is pretty."
Well the park seems to have no interest in fall color. All the trees were brown. So much for munincipal planning. She was too afraid of the big slide when staring at the top end of that dark tube. Monsters lurk in the dark. I knew she wasn't ready for that slide yet.
"Nonnie, lets take sister to the baby slide. She will like it."
Not fessin' up about that slide yet. She stared down that black hole three more times before the lowering sun sent us home. Each time she came back down from the playscape maze with a new idea about what "sister wants to do now". Sister hasn't said a word that anyone could understand since chortling "bye-bye" all the way to the park.
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