sticks, sheets and imagination

Dear Bone,

When I was your age, Gigi and I lived at your Nana's house. I loved your Nana's house. I still do. But as a child, I loved her side yard more than anything else. It was a secret place. A long passage way that felt like a darker version of The Secret Garden. It was a place shaded by bushes and trees -- cool even on the hottest summer days. It had a floor made of mud, and was the perfect place for burying treasures (and dead hamsters). It was hideaway. A fortress. A place of stones, sticks and imagination.

We aren't lucky enough to live in a small brick bungalow with an attic full of treasures or a hidden side yard full of secrets -- but I still want you to have a place where your imagination can soar. A simple place that you make magical. So yesterday I pointed out the perfect fort building spot between a cluster of trees and shrubs along the side of our coop. I equipped you and our neighbor with two polka-dot sheets, clothes pins, your Crazy Fort set, and lanterns leftover from a Cinco DeMayo party. And then I let you go to work.

You planned, you created, you built. You strung the lanterns, added chairs and a small table to play chess on. You ate Fritos from a plastic bowl. You added a tabletop terruim for decoration. You imagined.

And I smiled.