Annie's Eyes

The pond in my grandmother's summer house was legendary. My sister fell there while crossing an old wooden bridge, and my grandparents had to rescue her. My cousins had a similar accident, and although frightened, I loved playing on the shore.I found frogs and let them jump on my hands, then I raised my hands, watching them.

"Don't touch them, you'll get warts," my grandma's friend said."But they're cute. Look how their bodies are moving when they're breathing," I replied. The frogs seemed to sense my affection and didn't rush back to the pond. In the end, it was me who gently put them back into the water. Then I ran to the wooden swing, jumped on it, and moved my legs to go higher.

When I was finally tired, we walked with grandmother in the garden. The pansies, called Annie's Eyes in Russian, were purple and yellow. "But my eyes are blue," I said to Grandma. She took my hands and we went to collect strawberries."Why do those have holes?" I asked." It could be a snail that bit them," Grandma said."A snail! I want to see it," I exclaimed and started the search immediately. Meanwhile, my grandma approached an apple tree and collected the apples from the ground.

The garden was huge compared to the tiny house with its even tinier attic, my hiding spot. I loved lying there in the layers of dust and watching the neighbour, knowing she couldn't see me.

Since my grandmother isn't there, the house has turned to ruins. The neighbour used to take care of it for a few years, until she was too weak to continue. The swings have turned into two metal sticks with the wooden part missing. But my grandma's favourite apple tree is still growing in the garden.