Eternal Seeds

The table lies abandoned and neglected suffocating fresh blades of grass.

The blistering sun's arms chip away at the decaying paint. The only

attention it receives is from a colony of black ants which infest the

cracks and crevices. This splintered wooden table once had a life, when

it provided rest under the shadow of an umbrella made of orange tree

leaves, where grapefruit pits replaced ants and banana peels adorned the

surface like a table cloth.

We spent countless summer days sitting on this wooden table,

seats reserved for both brothers, grandpa and me. These were never

permanent, and needed periodic rotation in fear that my grandpa would

break through the center and fold us up inside. The table provided a view

of the entire backyard, beginning with the half-empty pool, to the

half-flooded surrounding concrete. From this look-out point my younger

brother surveyed his sprouting tomato plant and I could supervise my

cardboard lizard motel, which provided shelter for lost reptiles.

Beyond its significance as a surveillance tower and snack rest,

the table possessed industrial value, as the location for our kite

production line. All four of us took part in this activity each with a

designated chore. Age established the seating order, and each position

required the completion of a different task. Since age best indicated

ability, my younger brother gathered supplies, and broke a fresh piece of

wood from the volunteering orange tree, displaying its branches daily.

My other