Whenever we take a walk in the woods, Robin brings home a pocketful of treasure.
I packed up four boxes of twigs and dead leaves for this house move – like I didn’t have anything better to do.
I didn’t, I suppose; at least, not in the shining eyes of my four year old.
I was ironing a leaf he had found down at the river and it just looked like it could be something.
Something that would last longer; a memory of a day on the riverbank looking for adventure.
Maybe a felted hoop for the wall.
Or maybe, just maybe, a cloak for an autumn elf.
I can already picture it wrapped around his shoulders as he creeps along the riverbank beside us, also looking for adventure.
I think I feel a story coming on…