moving like in a room of mirrors, from book pile to toy pile to junkyard of medals, to stacked high paper pile coloured pens pencils markers massage balls binoculars, letters in assorted unsorted boxes
until utterly distorted I found myself in Maycomb Alabama hugging Dill when he says his parents don't need him and hugging Scout when she says Atticus couldn't get by a day without her
hoping in the pile of things that is home now my kids feel more scoutish than dillish and continue to do so in our new nest where every object will have its place and return there unbidden when not needed
so it can always be found
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