As a child, my dark green eyes saw a story in everything. The can of peas my mother put back on the shelf after changing her mind at the grocery store, it would weep for her change of heart. I would say a silent prayer that someone might choose it soon, end it’s suffering. Please, for another customer, let that can be “the one”.
My nightly bath in a beige vinyl tub was always a perilous adventure, and I, a mermaid in the eye of a storm would dive for pearls in a vortex of Mr. Bubble sea foam.
The small grey rabbit that would visit our backyard and forage through the garden, he was a cleverly disguised time traveler. Making his appearance through the worm hole that I’d hidden behind the birch trees on the side yard. We’d speak in a hushed language only known to us. Suddenly, he’d glance at his invisible pocket watch and vanish back to the alternative universe from whence he came. I always missed him.