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When I was Small

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Published 6 years ago
When I was small:

My mom looked out the kitchen window at the Mission Mountains.

“They are so large today. The Sheep’s Head is so amazing. Pumpkin, come here.”

She lifted me to the window. I saw snow. She pointed.

“Do you see the Sheep’s Head?” she said. I saw some sticks that looked a little like antlers.

“It’s over there, the horns curl, see,” she said.

“I can’t see any sheep,” I said.

“It’s there,” she was so emphatic that I lied.

“I see it,” I said. She put me down. I was five years older before I could see the sheep’s shape in the mountains.

When I was small:

My mom was working in the garden. She was a giant. Everything above her knee was taller than me. I pointed at the mountains and tried to tell my mom that I wanted to go. There was a trail that led across a green pasture, into the pine woods, and up into the blue wall of rock.

“Go,” she said, and bent down at her work again. I walked past the pumpkins and squash. I climbed through a small ditch, and toddled along the trail, until it left the barnyard. I had barely entered the field when I felt so small beneath the giant mountains, and exposed in the open field. The woods looked so dark and deep. Even the field seemed too large to cross. I looked behind me, and my mom was small. Her dark hair bobbed as she pulled weeds. My feet took a few more steps, but they were heavy, I was scared, so I went back to my mom. She smiled.

When I was small:

I held on to the course black mane, and my Aunt’s shoes, with chubby fingers. My feet didn’t touch the water. Powerful muscles rippled, and hooves ran through the clear emerald water. Gasping puffs of air bellowed from the brown mares flared nostrils. My Aunt held onto her tail as we swam across the reservoir. The sky was bright and blue. The mountains looked like dark teeth devouring the sky. The water reflected it all. My toes got a little bit wet.

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