“There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he looked upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.”
A tree bent and tired, worn from years of play is holding the little child high in its branches, she is looking for pirates.
Under the shadow of the trees mighty branches a square sandbox rests.
Little hands have divided the surface into kingdoms, the sand piled high into castles surrounded by moats, and in one of those lofty towers, a fair lady awaits her knight.
She is a princess, cowgirl, musician, chef, she has slayed evil dragons, and built hidden forts only her imagination limits her.
Books are the key, a magic carpet that carried her to places only her imagination could dream of going.
A page or so away she can cross-mountains on elephants, hear the clanging of steel sword against steel sword, endure freezing rain, and the fiery pain of a bullet wound.
Dress up clothes litter the floor leaving a trail of nostalgia, reflected back in the mirror I see a child and yet a woman. The person hiding in the mirror may be cruel, but still important to her.
“Mirror, Mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?”
The mirror points out imperfections, says she is just like a crack in its surface no longer perfect.
Her parents remind her of old oak trees in the yard, steady and unchanging.
They raised her to be strong and plant her roots in her family and faith, the most important things in life.
Now the tree shelters a teenager, trying to remember her childhood. Memories flash through her head as she touches the smooth, jagged edge of the bark, windswept beaches, lightning storms, music, family, and her world of “Just Pretend.”
Then she realizes she has become a grown up.