When I
was a kid, we’d drive out to Modjeska Canyon to visit friends who lived in the
last house at the very end of the canyon.
Their
home sat under giant shady oaks, was built of stone, and had a tin roof. When
rain or hail hit that roof, it produced an amazing sound – especially if you
were only nine or ten years old at the time.
The old
fellow who owned the house had also created a series of natural pools just
yards from the house by slowing the creek with large, smooth river stones. It
was a glorious place to splash about on a warm summer day.
His
wife liked to feed the raccoons stale doughnuts when they would show up each
evening, begging at the back screen door.
Then crickets
would serenade outside as darkness fell.
Soon
there were a gazillion stars peeping through the branches of the oaks. Coyotes
could be heard howling at the moon. It made the visiting raccoons nervous.
Before long, tired children would fall asleep in the back seat of the car on the long drive back to Anaheim, dreaming of rain, raccoons, and cool mountain streams. Or, maybe, those are just the daydreams of an old guy today.
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