For these blocks, this village, this train station, this train track, this space station, for all this imagination and the creations to come, thank you.
Everyday, I walk tentatively, eyes peeled to the ground and dodge one block after another. There’s no clear area; the blocks are everywhere.
These blocks came to us as a gift, piled in one white laundry basket. “Here, take these for your kids,” the woman said. “May your children enjoy them as much as mine. We spent hours upon hours building, constructing, and imagining.” She placed the filled basket in our living room and I pictured small hands that built and played. I could almost hear the blocks telling me — we’re filled with stories and memories, now just you wait to see what emerges.
For every creation and story, thank you. For the eruptions of laughter and joy, thank you. For the toppling of towers and the determination to keep building, thank you.
Thank you, beloved wooden blocks for this glimpse into the world my children will create.