Page 6

By Jack Joseph Smith

I seemed to say it for a long time, untill my words made mumbles and we followed my mother into the back yard. My mind became a cry overcome by the backs of five big brick houses rising high on slightly up slanted lawn hills running the length of our yard on the garage side. The houses there tryed to steal my security, but only made my yard seem nearer to me. Later they would see me sometimes and watch me always. There people would come and go and be reminded of me. They were close to my court yard Jerricho, but they could never crush me. They would be seperate from me. Our driveway-backyard wall remained low in it's inhancement of flowers and follage, untill it climbed in stone under high popular trees; deep shrubbery, red and green barberry and black grape-vines; and other lied about poison berry's to the end of our yard in spring. She walking through the first backyard section, behind her kitchenette, screened in pourch, and thin walk, that came around from the side of the house touching the porches sitting steps. Isn't this nice Rudy? I mean just look at this beautifull opening of brick and growth to the other part of the yard; Isn't it nice Rudy? Ha ha ha. Yes it's nice Mary. Isn't it beautiful son? Your mother sure likes this yard. It's pretty? Ha ha ha. Yes it is. It certainly is. Round rose beds made me run and run around afternoon fragrance timed by a sun dial standing among the symbols of its favorate seasons. My shoes laid open long knifed edged grass; as we walked away from the walk through a trellice of more red roses to where the song of both yards joined in an

Original Scan

Page 6

AI Interpretation

GPT

The backyard opens into a defended kingdom of brick houses, flowers, vines, rose beds, and lawn, with the child feeling both watched and unconquered inside it.

Nearby houses and neighbors threaten the child's security only enough to sharpen his sense of private dominion, even to the point of calling the space a courtyard Jericho. The mother's delight in the yard gives the place warmth, while the hedges, walls, trellis, and long grass turn it into lived myth.

Claude

The boy's words trail into 'mumbles' as they follow Mary into the backyard, where five big brick houses 'tryed to steal my security, but only made my yard seem nearer'. He recasts the encroaching neighbors as besiegers who 'could never crush me' - the yard becomes 'my court yard Jerricho', a defended kingdom of barberry, grape-vines, and 'other lied about poison berry's'. The parents' happy patter ('Isn't this nice Rudy?' / 'Yes it's nice Mary') frames the tour while the child runs the 'round rose beds' past a sun dial 'standing among the symbols of its favorate seasons'.