“I wonder…” rabbit began.
“That’s nice,” replied fox.
“But,” rabbit hurried, “I didn’t tell you what I was wondering about.”
“If you’re wondering,” explained fox, “that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
Thoughts while making
This was Meanley Park. Steep, rocky, and thick with eucalyptus that leaf rustled and sap crackled in the breeze. Winding trails connected forts made by neighborhood kids and rough hearts carved in picnic tables. Scrub jays and red-winged blackbirds watching. Always watching.
I must’ve been seven. The last days of summer. Shoes off. Always off. With digging stick in hand, I’d make my way to that hillside near the bottom. Even steeper there, mule fat and scrub oak holding on with exposed roots, creating hidden places I could tuck under and between, unseen.
Scratch, dig, dig. I was looking for dinosaur bones. Or green army men. Scratch, dig, dig. I was hoping to find treasure. Or pages from a weathered Playboy. Or rusted things buried in ancient red clay.
Things to hold in my hands, in my head, in my thoughts. Things of history, of mystery, of stories waiting to be told.
I remember finding an old toy car (or what was left of it). Rolling over on my back. Holding it to the sky. Sunlight gathered between the sway of trees. And wondering, first: “How did it get here?” “Who owned it?”
Then, the next level of wonder: “Why did it only have three wheels?” “Who was the driver?” “What was he escaping from?” And the next, as I climbed in and drove deep into the crumbling hillside leaving the world behind, always under the watchful eye of blackbird and jay.
What are you wondering about today?