Once Upon a Four Year Old Memory: 2009

Huddled around the door.
Our four-year-old faces puzzled, yet excited,
We line up two by two,
The sunlight bursting through
The cracks of the door.
Before we can step out into
The free, flowing, fresh air
We must first listen to the oh-so-simple directions.
As the words escape the mouth of our preschool teacher,
They fly in one ear and out the other.
As we each grab our own pair of kiddy scissors,
We unknowingly hold them incorrectly.
As the door opens
We eagerly follow the leader
To the flower garden,
Which we imagine as a great field of
Oranges, purples, blues, reds, and greens.
As our four-year-old souls silently soak in
Nature’s beauty,
We wait before we can even think of
Cutting Mother Nature’s precious gift
Right from underneath her.
The aroma around us is destroyed!
Somehow we all managed to all hold
Our scissors wrong.
As quickly as possible, we try to repatch
The disturbed peace.
We are then taught the correct way
To hold our itty-bitty scissors.
Ashamed, with rosy cheek faces,
We try to cover our mistake.
As directed, we place the
Unsharpened blade in the center
Of our undersized, four-year-old palm.
Suddenly, it’s silent, all that is heard
Is the whooshing of the wind and the
Sweet savory tune of the birds.
One by one we take a step closer,
With care we snip the bud
From the flower and disconnect it from the stem.
Huddled together,
Back on the “magic carpet”
We sit in a circle and wait,
Our teacher.
She’s back- carrying a big, clear,
Sparkling vase.
It’s placed directly in the circle’s center.
After a spring song and a dance,
Our flowers find themselves reunited again,
Surrounded by the
Love and nourishment
Given
to them by,
The four year olds.