Goofiness

I returned to my cozy home that was nestled within the newly fallen snow.  I shoveled my way in and opened the door and one of the first things I saw was a pile of pieces of wood that I have collected for spoons, and I looked at the pile and tried to see all of the many  lines of shapes of the various handles and bowls as I had seen when first discovering them.  Many were evident.  Some were a bit... obscuse... I mean, where had my eyes been looking when they were wandering through the trees and branches and deadfall way back in those moments?  I understand that most times I make what my kids call "goofy spoons" but for some of those pieces of wood, goofiness is still a far cry of hope for some vague semblance of clarity?  But I understand myself, I think; I think I understand this particular waywardness when it comes to searching out some of those spoons, and I have patience with my sight, I try to let it roam and play and dance, I mean, why not let it have its fun?  And when the time comes when I begin to explore into the shapes that are there and that will emerge I can only hope that my hands call their own playful fun forward and allow their surfaces to dance upon the potential.  And I think of my kids, and hope that I also always allow them a similar leeway of fun and creativity and exploration of so much potential that they might come to recognize as what may not seem as it might typically seem, and I hope that I can share some of the happiness I feel when I'm with them seeing them within what is always, ultimately, their own spaces of exploration.  It's there in the spoons.  Maybe someday they'll notice some sense of this within all the goofiness...