From Tuesday October 2, 2018 :
“This book is a mystery, and what is a mystery?”
This, from a second grader, who is checking out
Cam Jansen and the Basketball Mystery.
A mystery is a thick book with small print
and you’re not sure you can read it but it’s creased
and the pages are falling out and you know
this is a sign of a loved story,
so you want to try.
A mystery feels like the wind
or a whisper
or like trying to hold a laugh
and wondering what will happen
when you let it out.
It is bees making hexagon rooms in their hives
and caterpillars making cocoons
it is both of these creatures
knowing to do this.
A mystery is learning Canadian Geese
mate for life
and seeing one dead
in the middle of the road
and lamenting
for the companionship
that is forever gone
because of our rush to work.
It smells like rising dough
brand new tennis balls
chlorine, sunblock, and sunshine
mixed together.
It sounds like an approaching train
the first chirps of a hatched hen
the gurgle of boiling water
being poured into a mug.
It is a gasp
a hunch.
It is a question:
“What do you think it is?” I say, handing him back his book.
“A mystery is something you can’t find, but you know you’re gonna,”
he says, and walks away,
the book tucked under his arm.
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