Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be: the turn to adult things? There’s a real world out there, and you can’t be preoccupied looking for love stories between toads.
I saw birds fight for a spot in the bird feeder and made up conversations for them.Īs I grew, that kind of wonder and imagination faded from view.
I imagined my horses forming friendships with one another. I watched a mallard and his mate swim in the pond and believed they not only mated for life but also worked together each year to plan and raise their young. What if a dog and a cat operated a dollhouse store? What if a poor and sickly tailor discovered mice had finished the sewing project he had begun? What if there was a mouse who was tidy and particular about her little burrow? She must have looked at nature with eyes wide open and a mind twirling with questions and what-ifs. Eventually, supper must be cooked, and I gather up the books back onto the shelves for another day.Īfter reading a book like Potter’s, I can’t help but marvel at the wonder and imagination hardwired into her.
Some days my throat grows hoarse from reading lengthy Beatrix Potter books to them, only to find my children waving yet another hardcover book in front of my face with pleading eyes. I spend a lot of time reading books to my three little ones.
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