there are containers
and containers
and containers
and containers
and containers
and containers
of things collected.
creatures
sponges
old juice (to see what will happen)
leaves
beer caps
dirt
railroad spikes
rocks
seeds
sticks
frogs (i let you go when i find you, tho!)
popped balloons
sand
flower tops
straws
popsicle sticks
plastic toys
water
more dirt
water
more dirt
water
more dirt

before i had my own kids and
when i was in the early stages
of mothering,
i dreamt of these
containers.

full of things
considered treasures.
i thought it would be cool
and whole to allow this freedom.
that it would be enough to watch
a child discover and find a way to hold on to it.

so now i am sorry
when i see only the mess
only the container that needs to be washed
the container that may be ruined
because these things
were soaked in rain
and dried out…
the guilt of recycling a dirty container
or not recycling it at all.

i know now more than ever
the mystery of living with both:

realizing this is a dream come true that will need to be cleaned up