Bubble Castles

The air sparkled like a diamond, the sky was bright with sunshine hidden by clouds that had given all they could, and the breeze wafted the clean, sweet scent of greasewood toward the green-roofed cabin on the tree-line. All morning wave after wave of wet warriors had swept across the meadow, throwing themselves against the ground in futile attempts to crush the defiant foliage. The triumphant vegetation stood proud and dripping, each sagebrush leaf and meadow grass spike was coated in the remains of defeated raindrops.

I sat on the weather stained porch tracing the paths of long dead worms in the log walls of the cabin. My small purple plastic jar sat open on the wide grey plank beside me with its bright green wand peeking over the rim. I pulled the wand out of its soapy hiding place and blew one glorious, wobbly, gigantic bubble. As it floated toward the meadow I dreaded its inevitable demise. It drifted downward and settled intact on the meadow grass. I blew another and another and watched in awe as the bubbles joined forces with the remains of the raindrops to vanquish the meadow, not by force or strength but beauty. My family joined me and barefoot in the mud we spent the afternoon on the meadow building castles made of soap with neon green and pink wands.