Behind the schoolyard, where the city left off and the hills began their march toward the coast, grew vast fields of mustard flowers. Each spring, I felt myself irresistibly drawn to their brightness. I found that I could be a part of their magic simply by dropping down among the stems taller than myself and hollowing out a little "house". The sky was my roof, the tall grasses my walls, and the musty earth, the floor of a most enchanting hide-away. . .

The sunshine broke into a myriad of sparkling lights through the tops of the yellow flowers. Their bright green stems waved softly in the breeze around me, as I lay on the ground looking up at an extraordinarily blue sky. White clouds pulled gently apart by the wind, reformed with others like amoebas, then disappeared over the edge of my hidden lair.

The cool breeze wafted a succession of intriguing aromas my way: a whiff of cattle grounds mixed playfully with the heady aroma of wildflowers and new grass simmering in the warm sunshine, or the subtle fragrance of wild iris and lilac from someone's garden. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply of the sweet pungent aroma of newly-dampened earth from a distant shower.

The far-off cries of children at play drifted into the air, reminding me of lost helium balloons at a fair. The muffled sounds of a horn honking, of cars whizzing by on a nearby freeway, of a screen door slamming, slowly detached themselves from me as the noises from outside were shut out and I became quietly aware of another world.

I found myself listening to the soft rustling sounds which came from within the roots of the thick grasses and trying to imagine the cause of each tiny stirring. Turning on my side, I scrutinized the dark passages between the stems and discovered a small beetle making his way over pebbles and roots twice his size. How swiftly he progressed, perfectly balanced in the most precarious positions! I recalled how hard it had been for me to push through the tall grasses, stumbling over the smallest hidden rock.

A lady bug alighted on a blade of grass, hesitating as the blade swayed under its weight. Folding its tiny wings carefully in, it advanced slowly to the top of the grass in scarlet contrast with its bright green surroundings. Then it flashed away again in the sun.

Occasionally, a bright tumble of red and gold would flutter through, like quick strokes of a paint from an artist's brush. The lovely butterflies, like the lady bug never seemed to have time to stay. Perhaps their beauty made them more vulnerable and they had to keep moving.

The wind would at times become stronger, shaking all the walls of my little house and threatening a stream of black ant's busy exploring a mustard flower. They became as little statues, each holding his position firmly until the wind subsided. Then, unperturbed, they busied themselves as before.

Time to go too soon! I would spring out of my hiding place and run pell-mell down the hill to make the parting easier, being careful to take with me all the memories of my short stay. I knew that I could recall them at will and smile a secret smile when things got difficult until I could return to enjoy them again.

Learn more about this author, Lorena Bowser.
Click here to send author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Short stories: Childhood memories?
We want to hear your view. Write now!