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Gray.  It’s what’s outside.

And rain.  Good heavens…  It’s out there, too.

But blocks…the ones we build and stack with, the ones that have grown in interest the soggier the grass has gotten, the ones we can balance on top of each other with a shaky hand and that clatter to the coffee table just as we say, “hey, look how tall I made mine”–those blocks, well, they’re inside.  And since the sun is shining somewhere else, we’ve found ourselves inside, too.

Which doesn’t mean that messing with blocks serves as some consolation prize to running free in the backyard or ranks barely above ‘nothing else to do.’   

Because I’ve seen our kids create for half hours on top of half hours, structures that seem scarcely more than a mix of blocks end on end–until, I was told they’d created people–each one different than the next.  Some taller.  Some fatter.  Some with big heads and wide legs.  And…

and I could only gasp at a couple of  imaginations effortlessly finding the fun in a box of blocks. 

Time I use mine to pretend I see the sun.

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