Slice of Paradise
Thanks to my husband, we are living in a little corner of paradise. I don't
want to tell you exactly where it is, because too many visitors or new
residents would change this place.
I grew up on the San Francisco peninsula, left California after completing
college in 1975, and moved to a small town in southeastern Washington
state. Sixteen years later I married and moved to an even smaller town in
Idaho.
The view from my windows encompass rolling farm fields, a verdant valley, a
meandering, usually tame river, and wooded hills.
Paradise, of course, varies with the season. In winter, the snow plow's
scraping on the highway is as pleasant a sound as the squeaking crunch of
snow underfoot. But I prefer spring and fall. The rumble of logging and
chip trucks are as satisfying as the chink-a-chink of an old-time cash
register to a merchant. One slow-moving train and its wailing whistle
conjure up traveling fantasies. In the heat of summer, the croaking of the
tiny frogs that like the moist shadows under our house, mixed with the
chirping of crickets and the buzzing whine of cicadas raise a racket that
to my ears are sweet music.
Traveling, though pleasant, only makes home, our slice of paradise, look
better to me.
Michol Ann
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