sandbox

I used to write.

I used to write so much that other people called me a writer.
I didn't believe them, but that was how much I wrote.

I wrote in all lowercase letters.
They seemed approachable, unimposing, gentle.
I overused ellipses because periods seemed harsh and bossy.

On Thursdays, I met with a woman who asked me to choose a figure from a basket and place it anywhere I wanted in a small sandbox.  I chose a baby deer.  Then she asked me to add a second.  I chose a person swinging a stick and I buried it in the corner under the sand.

In a place I couldn't get at ease,  I created the coziest, tiniest nook anyone over five feet tall ever fit, and "fit" is a loose term, because my knees were too tall for the writing desk.  But the nook had soft lighting and muted drawings. If I faced forward, nowhere else existed.

I practiced having lowercase hands that patted and opened to every person I met.
I assumed everyone may be coming out into the world from a cozy nook, braving the elements, and anything but kindness might scare them back in.
Because, you just never know.

I dreamed about a new place where I could enter each room freely.
I prayed and searched and visited and waited.  I shopped for tables, coffee, kitchen and side ones, and realized that everything I wanted was circular.  Anything with the hint of a sharp corner, turned me on my heel and sent me back towards the furry blanket displays.

I dreamed about a place, but was doubtful.  You never know if your mind just can't handle sharp corners anywhere.  Maybe it's you.  Maybe you'll be fashioning nooks or nests anywhere you light the rest of your life.

The woman asked me to choose a figure to place near the fawn.
I chose a lion wearing a crown.  Not a scary roaring one.  It sat tall and serene and I placed her just in front of the fawn protectively.  She said choose another also, so I placed a tiny soldier behind the fawn for backup.  I named him Kevin.  I said he was small and in training, but feisty and had heart.  She said I didn't need to name him, and truthfully, this activity was supposed to be less verbal than I making it.

I made it to a new place.
I stood up to my full height (minus my shepherd's crook posture) the moment I entered.
I roamed through each tiny room and exhaled.
I wasn't sure where the cozy nook should be.  For weeks, I tried different areas.  Nowhere was just right.  Finally I realized, all four rooms were my nest.
I breathed and found I didn't notice whether there were sharp corners or not.
My coffee table is round, but frankly a rectangle would hold more books.  I'm considering.

When the sandbox was full, I asked what it meant.  What happened to the figures?  Who are they?
"You," she said.
"The fawn?" I asked.
"All of them."
I was skeptical.  "The soldier...the one under the sand...the lion in the crown...."
"Correct."

I didn't believe her.
Until today.