My dad and grandfather are together by the pond. The place is so big I can sneak up on anyone, stealing from an azalea bush over to the magnolia tree to gather a few of the hand grenades it manufactures, in case of enemy attack. Light and shade are everywhere. With the dry grass and twigs on the ground, it’s difficult to be quiet when I skulk, but they each have a line in the water, whispering to one another. They can’t hear me. (read on…)