Sitting on the floor

sitting on the floor

the walls around dissolve into distant fog and mist
carpet is grassy meadow
chair is gentle hill
table is far-off mountain
a river appears, watering the forest that sprouts unbidden

and toys are family, 15 minutes a lifetime of playing and working
and eating and talking in a world that constantly
bends and flexes to match the capricious desires of the moment
a three-foot body kneels on the floor; stillness in constant motion,
a sponge-like mind absorbing and releasing
as the spider of the mind sins its ever-growing web of order
and connections and relationships

the river is now a road;
imaginary cars deliver their imaginary passengers hurriedly to and fro
table becomes a massive bus station bustling with thousands of commuters
and travelers swarming under its grand canopy
chair legs form a sturdy tunnel
carpet reforms into a host of roadside attractions
the distant fog burns off to reveal a brilliant panorama of the most
amazing sights and scenes imaginable by the mind of the two-year-old
boy in front of me
sitting on the floor

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