where marbles hide

“L6m”

– piggy bank name (name written on piggy bank with sharpie or permanent-looking pen or marker). when asked what it was, she said it was its name but didn’t pronounce it.

just like with her mother, this kind of stuff makes me burst with everything-awesome-sorts. just~ because, well . . . it’s everything-awesome.

perhaps one big feature i may not put forth (specifically/intellectually) in my mind, but that emotionally i am very much aware of, is how reflective things are in your guys physical spheres of influence. “not the same, but very familiar”-kind of thing.

i miss being engine to corrugated imaginations, flying about the house while cooking dinner enchants the airs.

i miss drawing along side caterpillars and battling ticks while arias are fashioned through afternoon panes.

i miss patiently standing by, watching the determined tying of impossible knots; realizing that i am in witness to the wonders of the world in such small artifacts of moment. how can she tie that knot? no way it can be done; but, wait~ she’s done it. and how is it not coming undone? with all the flying she does and helping of spider-chasing in blanketed plains, and roping wild knobs in that elementary struggle of fantastic banter.

it’s the magic of knots though. the pure ones come undone when they need to.

i burst.

i really do.

it’s not just the recognizable aspect of her way, in myself, not the charm of essential behaviours of imagination or of what some might dismiss as naïf youth, nor the saturate creative snaps; it is something profound and encompassing, a dynamic created by the various parts coming together. people and time and place and senses and being, all swirling and alloyed into brilliant forms of temporary tangent.

 

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