He found one of my favorite spots. It was ever so cold but he was bundled up and the sun shone so brightly that nestled in the hay, he couldn't help but be warm and cozy. I told him that we spent so much time playing out here on the bales . . . and he had that faraway look with furrowed brows that told me he thought I meant these very bales. Oh no, not these! I explained with a laugh. But just like these. Fat, sweet-smelling cylinders open to any kind of imaginative possibility. Houses, look-out towers, castles. I specifically remember when I was five and we had friends from far away come to visit us. We took them to the bales to run and jump. They had never seen bales, let alone play on them. Even then, I remember thinking how strange that was. These smelled so sweet and dusty. Just like a kitty-cat. (And why is it that kitties always smell like hay, even when they are house cats?) I wish it hadn't been so cold. I was not dressed for the weather that morning like my little one. I would have spent a little time in that hay, too.
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