I look at the rumpled piece of paper
and toss it into the recycling bin.
That's not just paper, Mommy.
That's my melted snowball.
It can't go into the bin, you know.
She brings it back inside,
and sets it on the counter,
along with the hundreds of other papers
that for some reason
do not belong in the recycling bin.
I try to put myself in her place.
I tie my shoes on--
one of wonder, the other of awe--
and I imagine.
The blue construction paper before me
becomes the waves up at Walloon Lake.
The faded piece of cereal box
transforms into a garden in the spring,
before the planting has been completed
before the season's harvest has been fulfilled.
I rifle through the stack of papers,
seeing something new
with each sheet.
Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, I think.
And I wonder how much I've been missing
because I haven't considered a different perspective.
I smile as I realize that once again,
I've learned a life lesson from my child.
How lucky am I.