I feel like all I've been doing this year is writing about boxes. These are the top and bottom of a long box that came along with our giant tube (which I've still not had the courage to cut up into shorter pieces). Watching children play with boxes makes me want to write a poem about them.
Or sing a song. These they seem to like to hide under, together, making it feel for a few seconds as if there are fewer children at school today.
Then suddenly they burst back out into the light, bringing with them all the sound and motion that we expect at Woodland Park.
I wish I had a huge warehouse for storing these kinds of thing, but instead we need to use them up, wear them out, then either get them into the recycling bin or cut them up for art projects, like this incredible glue collage on which we've been working off and on for a couple weeks.
A project built on a remnant of the last box we loved until it was no more.
A collage made of the parts of other things we've used up, but not found the heart to throw out.
And then when we're finished gluing, once it's all dry, then maybe we'll throw it out. If history is to be a guide, it will take a long time before that happens.
I might even go over it a few weeks from now and pick it like carrion for parts to re-use yet one more time.
In fact, I'm pretty sure much of it will soon be stuck to the side of our new long boxes.
But not before we've loved them to pieces.