Once there was a boy who walked along the beach with his grandfather. The boy could barely match his tall grandfather’s gait but he did not give up, jumping and skipping next to him sticking his chest out when he caught up to him.
They approached some drift wood and GrandPapa led the little one to sit by him and watch the waves forming rows and rows of petticoats. “Ah, cela me fait souvenir des bons moments quand ta mamie était toute jeune.” He sighed and appeared to be in his own world for a long time. Jonathan was only half listening to his grandfather because he often talked about times that he knew very little about.
He started fidgeting from sitting for too long and fell to his knees taking handfuls of sand and putting his ear to it as he slowly let the sand sift through his fingers. GrandPapa looked at Johnathan and started chuckling. He asked him, why he was putting the sand to his ear like that.
His grandson looked up at his grandfather with a slight air of annoyance. « Bien voyons, GrandPapa. J’écoute. Mon prof m’a dit que dans le sable il y a des milliers d’histoires…alors, j’écoute »
waves carry tomes
drifting from faraway
Ah, cela me fait souvenir des bons moments quand ta mamie était toute jeune. Ah, that brings wonderful moments to mind when your nana was very young. Bien voyons, GrandPapa, J’écoute. Mon prof m’a dit que dans le sable il y a des milliers d’histoires…alors, j’écoute » Come now, Grandpa, I’m listening. My teacher told me that in the sand, there are millions of stories…so, I’m listening.” N.B. in French "histoire" means story but also history.