The Cyclops’ Garden

By Fiona Jensen

The door of Gran’s cottage opened with a snick. My younglings raced for the beach, eager to resume their friendship with the imaginary cyclops we discovered the last time we visited. That time, we chased off the cyclops’ enemies by spitting watermelon seeds at them until they fled into the woods.

Now, the kids rounded the corner and halted abruptly.

“What happened, Mummy?”

What, indeed? The sand had vanished beneath a sea of ankle-deep greenery. The broad leaves resembled treasure maps growing from rope-like vines.

I paused, startled. Then laughter choked me. “They’re watermelon plants! Remember spitting those seeds? They grew!”