I only nodded as my son ran inside for more paper. It seemed easier than asking questions.
But on his fifth trip, I raised an eyebrow. At which time my son smiled, fingered another sheet and then slunk speedily out the back door.
Only there…there on the play toy was the smallest two-person assembly line of pink paper accordions.
My daughter sat cutting paper into strips and taping the ends.
And my son sat anchored in the maple tree…
concerned with nothing but criss-crossing his pink paper strips.
I don’t know what started the paper folding. Nor how it could continue for two hours.
I’m just certain that the folding of pink paper into tiny accordions has never brought such satisfaction.
Or produced such purpose and peace.