Someone has placed, in the dark soil at the base of this Brooklyn tree on a shady residential side-street, a miniature tableau: wire cages from the tops of champagne bottles twisted into chairs, a tiny table made of popsicle sticks and cardboard from a small box of cereal, some small toys as garden decorations.
I'm behind in my errands, so I don't stop to examine it closely, but a young girl and her father pause at her squeal to take a look. She excitedly begins to describe who would be sitting in the little chairs at the table, and what they might be eating and drinking, a whole guest of list of little folks sharing tea and crumpets in the very small world beneath the very large tree.
I try to remember what it must be like to be so young as to see something for the very first time, to see everything for the first time, and think how I might regain this superpower.
One year ago: My "Tell"
Two years ago: Misunderstood
Three years ago: A Day's Work
Four year ago: That's How Blessings Work (Reciprocity)