Where the wild things are
I read this morning that Maurice Sendak died. So much of his imagination fueled my own. From my early childhood and reading books like Where the Wild Things Are—over and over and over—to my adult years in Seattle watching Sendak’s creativity come alive with the his brilliantly designed sets for Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Nutcracker.
This morning, after I heard the news, I sat in my garden watching my own “wild things”: Maggie-the-cat helping the fava beans grow by keeping a close eye on them.
...and Baby Bird, exploring the world outside the walls of her home. Hues of green, and pink and yellow, the sounds of birds all around us and everything us alive, filled with color and the possibility of adventures to come.
I hope, as she grows, these sights and sounds will inspire my daughter’s own creative mind and she’ll feel free to fly. And, in time, I hope she’ll also come to find—just like Max in the Wild Things—that a warm meal is always waiting at home.2 comments