Last week a neighbor dropped off a load of logs to be cut for the winter, and they were piled on the north side of the house to await the chainsaw. Normally I’d view them as an eyesore, but this week I have seen them through the eyes of children.
In the last week those ugly logs have been a pirate ship, a castle, an island. They have seen unprecedented dangers and seen miraculous rescues. They have seen hubcaps transformed into shields, princesses saved from dragons, hordes of fish captured with stick and string. They have been the base of spy operations, an island in the middle of shark infested waters, the hideout for dangerous bandits. Dolls have been tucked to bed in hidden pockets, weapons have been stashed in handy places, and advancing foes have been met with flags waving defiantly.
Like most joys in life, this one is fleeting. Today the children helped to stack the wood their father cut and chopped, and there were a few tears as “favorite” logs were rolled away and beloved boundaries disappeared. The pile they play on tomorrow will be significantly smaller than the one they played upon this week.
I have no doubt their imaginations are up to the challenge.