There is a box with sides and flaps and perhaps it is a big box and once-upon-a-time contained a refrigerator and a child makes a playhouse out of it, a fort, a space to hide away from the world of adults and please and thank you and vegetables and wash-your-hands; and perhaps it is a tiny box with a bow and inside is a little girl’s Cinderella dream, a lavish surprise, a ring of gold or silver or both and it holds a precious gem, a pearl, a diamond and is given with a sterling promise and is accepted with a swoon and gasp; and perhaps it is a wooden box of slats and holds watermelons, apples, peaches, a bounty of the soil and gift from hard-working souls who tend to the earth, the earth that graciously provides trees to make boxes.

Reading feeds my winged soul; I climb out of the big box and take flight.

Watch me fly.