My concern for my son overshadowed a far more interesting experience I had yesterday.
On my way home from work, I pulled up to a stop sign and, while waiting for traffic to clear, glanced across the intersection to see a life-sized statue of a zebra on the lawn of some kind of home business across from me.
Hmm . . . I thought. That's a life-sized statue of a zebra. I'll be darned.
Then the statue began to graze.
I must have looked at it wrong. The sun hit it funny creating the illusion of stripes.
It turned broadside. Real Stripes. Lots of them.
Had someone painted some poor donkey with stripes? Poor little thing. Not funny. Not funny at all.
I pulled across the intersection into the driveway connected to the lawn the zebra was on and sat there for a second.
It was a zebra. In the Ozarks. Grazing like it belonged there.
The business owner/home owner strolled across his lawn toward his front sign. I rolled down my window and pointed wordlessly with my eyebrows raised.
"Haven't you ever seen a zebra mowing the lawn before?" he said laughing.
I told the boys about it when I came home. My youngest ran to the map on the wall and pointed at Africa. "How did they get him from there to here?" I could see he was imagining a helicopter and a sling and a long ride across the ocean.
Rather than ruin this story idea, I told him that I was sure it must have been an adventure for all involved. He spent the evening drawing pictures of the zebra's trip from there to here.
Would that I could come up with story ideas as easily.