Snapping Greenbeans (differnet version)
I sat in my chair over looking the front lawn; a bucket of fresh green beans at my side and two bowls at my feet. The shade of the grand oak tree I still faintly remember planting made the sun flicker whenever the wind would blow.
Children could be heard laughing in tune with the clicking of a sprinkler. No doubt like the one sticking up from my front yard right now.
My hands rhythmically broke the green beans; each tiny snap brought a little smile to my face.
One snap. I broke off the stem.
Two snap. Break off the bottom.
Three crack. I broke it in half dropping the ends in one bowl and the middles into the other.
I looked down in the bowls by my feet and saw some ends scattered into the middles, and the middles lying atop the ends. As gracefully as I could I lifted myself from my chair to kneeling beside the bowls.
Listening to the sounds of summer I picked out the green beans and popped one in my mouth, its soft skin squeaking against the skin of my teeth like the wheel of a bicycle left in the rain.