This afternoon, I played a strange mix of soccer, handball (more like hand-and-dog's-mouth-ball), and fetch with Polly in the rain.
It felt like autumn.
Tongue out, and basset ears flapping, Polly was quite resilient. As the game continued, the following rhyme manifested itself in my mind:
Polly plays soccer really slowly.
At times, she's a striker, at times--a goalie.
Her basset howl is loudest of all,
As she runs chasing that tennis ball!
This is not the first time the clumsy and lovable red beast inspired spontaneous (kids') poetry or stories in me. I just hope that some day, out of this collection emerges enough decent material for a children's book.
Writing and illustrating one of my own has been a dream for about ten years. But, you know, work, college, work, Master's, work, work, work, PhD, work, work...