![]() ![]() Although several landowners divided the foothills, borders were invisible, structures were scarce, and fences uncommon. ![]() When the wind wasn’t blowing, our valley was well suited to reading alfresco: cozy, well lit, and not too tight. “Horton,” I said, holding up another page, “sets out to find the Whos, one thistle at a time.” The endangered Whos call out for help, and only the caring, observant, and big-eared Horton can hear them. In the story, the vulture-like bird drops the Whos’ thistle into a field with a billion other thistles. It’s making off with the thistle with Whoville inside.” Fox tilted his chin up for a view. ![]() “Whos are so small that their entire town fits on a tiny speck embedded in a thistle.” I held up a drawing of a vulture-like bird with a single flower in its beak. No other book in my cottage seemed appropriate for someone with an 18-minute attention span and modest mental acuity. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who!, a glossy, red oversize book about an eponymous elephant who hears the peep of an eponymous Who in the thunderous Jungle of Nool. When my supply of scintillating stories ran out, I brought out a new book. Most days I did more talking than reading. Since I never bothered with a bookmark, we read freestyle. By early May, we had read The Little Prince several times. ![]()
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