On a bright, dry Oklahoma day a young boy was kicking at clods of dirt to see the clouds of dust transforming into brown and red wind sprites.
My grandfather, who was standing nearby, smiled and pointed at the jets high overhead, leaving their vapor trail for everyone to see. He said, " Do you see those jets? Their pilots have air masks to breath, yes?! Well, what do you think happens to their air when you send that dust up?" Visualizing the pilot coughing, I stopped.
Twenty years later,
on foreign soil, I remembered that dusty Oklahoma day as another dust sprite was launched by my stride. Recalling the wisdom of my grandfather, my boots met the ground . . . like old friends.
. . . for a dusty moment I thought I could see my grandfather smiling back at me. . . . and I smiled back.
Note: My mom’s birthday was a few days ago. Her dad is a great inspiration to me. Happy Birthday Mom.