The Mango Cousins

Deep in the woods a cottage stood silent where three emotionally strong cousins filled with honesty resided, engaging in peaceful activities.

Cinamon and Vanilla, fronting young mature enthusiastic spice racks, positioned themselves, defending their chosen side, staring into each other’s eyes, wondering who was going to blink.

“I won,” Vanilla announced gloating that Cinamon surrendered, conceding the childish game,

“Where is Nutmeg?” She retreated, responding using a concerned tone, forcefully changing the subject.

“With Walldon,” Vanilla reported, “Why?”

“Money,” Cinamon answered before an outdoor disturbance revealed the youngest clan representative.

“What to my wonderous surprise,” Vanilla exclaimed, “it’s Nutmeg gracing our presence.”

“Where have you been all afternoon?”

“With Walldon,” Nutmeg reported, “down at the pond his family owns.”

“For one thing,” Vanilla tried correcting, “our tranquil paradise is not a pond, it’s a lake.”

“Placid one at that,” Vanilla agreed.

“Walldon thinks his family purchased a pond last century.”

Featuring not a wake, a short walk separated the girls’ property with the water oasis, boasting a secret God given power below. Acting as a boarder to another country where a different language spoke, producing tension, and needed the submerged sparkling crystals enhancing the floor to change colors when combatting the communication conflict.

“Walldon’s family bought the pond,” Nutmeg insisted, “if they did not make the purchase, those who do not talk our language would,”

Giving their cousin a quizzical look Vanilla and Cinamon both requested, “is that what Walldon told you?”

“Yeah, and then we went for a quick dip and all day we talked only kind words,”

“It is Walldon,” Vanilla pointed out, reminding the growing adolescent.

“He is always pondering a thought,” Nutmeg defended.

As nightfall occupied the skies, the three related ladies prepared dinner and when they sat down for the meal, conversation designated itself the main ingredient.

“Okay, Walldon owns the pond,” Cinnamon started, and Nutmeg confirmed, “but why does it look like a lake?”

“It does not look like a lake, it is a river,” Vanilla corrected.

“No, Vanilla, it’s a lake,”

“It’s a pond!” Nutmeg dug her nail into the debatable matter.

Tempting desserts teased their sweetness, before the trio retired, going to sleep not having any resolution, leaving the dispute boiling.

Naturally the sun rose, dispensing all dark sentiments, and the three welcomed a new day, hoping intellectual answers will arrive educating them.

“Are we still debating the same thing?” Cinnamon opened the morning dialogue.

“You mean the one Nutmeg and her beau proposed?”

“I did not start, anything,” Nutmeg strolled into the one-on-one conversation wiping her eyes, “all I said, Walldon,” she paused, “owns his pond.”

“Okay, Mango cousins, should we settle this the old fashion way?” Vanilla suggested and the other two affirmatively shook their heads.

Following an energetic early afternoon hike the trio transitioned from the wilderness attire unveiling attractive white bikini bathing suits.

“Are we all ready for this?” Vanilla asked about the adventure they were confronting.

“Yeah, we must come closer with this confusing dilemma and define the situation’s reality,” Cinnamon added.

“I am telling you two, Walldon owns a pond,” Nutmeg stated her facts.

Creating ripples entering the refreshing landscape, bathing away any disagreement, until bubbles popped all around them, “this is so relaxing,” Cinnamon commented.

“Very soothing,” Vanilla clarified.

“Whatever it is,” Nutmeg continued, “Walldon’s family made a good investment.”

When the spa experience concluded, the three departed quiet and muted, retrieving their garments they littered on the shore.

Proceeding back towards the rural residencies they saw Walldon standing behind a computerized control panel.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

“We came here wanting answers, is the swimming hole a river?” Vanilla wanted the truth.

“Or a lake?” Cinnamon threw in her opinion.

“Maybe,” Nutmeg grabbed Walldon’s arm, “it’s the pond, you own.”

“You all are wrong,” Walldon stepped away showing his magical machine, “if you would like to see, I have the setting set to ‘hot spring’”

“So today, it’s a hot spring and tomorrow,”

“I just move the switch creating an environment the visitor requested,”

“Well,” Nutmeg released an influential squeeze, “if we come, we can make the setting a pond, that you own.”

“Have to ask?” Walldon inquired, “do you all feel better?”

“Only if you give us, the keys to that switchboard,” Vanilla and Cinnamon stated together while Nutmeg picked her boyfriend’s pocket.