Saturday, October 22, 2011
Head of a bear
Little guy said the other day: I need to close the door so that I don't hear the little puppets.
What little puppets? I said.
They run around in the hall way and they disturb me.
He noticed that I kind of liked what his imagination brought up.
They come out at night, he continued, and they look at our stuff.
They don't hurt, he assured me, they take care of our things, they watch them.
So why do they disturb you then?
I don't like hearing them, he shrug his shoulders.
(I am not surprised. I am glad I do not hear them)
He has also shown me repeatedly a head of a bear sticking from things piled up in our spare room. He was pointing in the clear air insisting that it was a bear's head. It was probably his mommy's anger which materialized and hid in a dark corner.
I am glad I am not a kid anymore. I need to take that bear's head and puppets' pitter-patter into my heart.