It’s about a little boy named Marco with a very big imagination. Each morning when Marco leaves for school, his Dad always says, “Marco, keep your eyelids up and see what you can see.” At first, Marco just sees his own feet and a horse and a broken down cart on Mulberry Street. But then he wonders what if a zebra was pulling that cart? And then wouldn’t it be a shame for such a marvelous beast to be pulling such a boring cart? Wouldn’t the story be such a better story if the driver was a charioteer, rumbling like thunder down Mulberry Street? Of course, the things Marco begins to see on Mulberry Street grow more and more elaborate as the story progresses. When he gets back home at the end of his day, he has so much to tell, he just does not know where to begin when his father asks about his day. Looking at him sharply, his father asks, “Was there nothing to look at? No people to greet? Did nothing excite you or make your heart beat?” Marco sadly answers, “Nothing but a plain horse and cart on Mulberry Street.”
For the past couple of weeks, I have leashed up my trusty Rascal, grabbed my Cannon camera and taken a 20 minute walk around our neighborhood. Walking along, I turn minnows into whales as I craft different stories and conversations in my head. Before long, Rascal has jumped on the back of a rabbit using her leash for reins and is galloping off to chase a giant golden butterfly. Floating napkins are not litter, but sails crossing a dandelion sea.
At the end of my walk, feeling great, I rush into my house, filled with enthusiasm for the blog post I have crafted in my head, or the task I have decided to begin, finish or conquer while I walked down Roscoe Street. But when I shut my front door and face the task at hand, all I can remember seeing is a plain rabbit, some paper napkins, and a field of yellow weeds on Roscoe Street.
Does this sometimes happen to you?
I did see this on Roscoe Street! Fairy housing, of-course!