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bug city
Yesterday morning I saw a construction across the asphalt path that runs through the common area in our neighborhood. It was a long stick, and leaning on the stick were smaller sticks and twigs, bits of lichen-covered bark, and moss. It looked as if ambitious small-scale beavers had decided the path was a flow of water and were attempting to dam it.
Later in the day I was passing by again, and three little kids, two boys and a girl, were happily at work on it. It was, they told me, a bug city, complete with bridges, roads, parks, districts--everything.
This morning Wakanomori and I found it expanded, so I took a video:
They were all so wholly engaged with the work, excited and happy, feeding off each other's ideas.
What White Horses, Nazca lines, pyramids, citadels, or hanging gardens did you get up to creating in childhood? Or now, for that matter?
Later in the day I was passing by again, and three little kids, two boys and a girl, were happily at work on it. It was, they told me, a bug city, complete with bridges, roads, parks, districts--everything.
This morning Wakanomori and I found it expanded, so I took a video:
They were all so wholly engaged with the work, excited and happy, feeding off each other's ideas.
What White Horses, Nazca lines, pyramids, citadels, or hanging gardens did you get up to creating in childhood? Or now, for that matter?
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I still like to photograph accidental fairy hollows in lawns or fields.
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