Polliwogs, Schwinns, and Finding Safety in an Upside-Down World
Mobile: Shadowbloom in deep black, blue gray dark, and storm blue
On now
“Was it always this hard?” asked fox.
Bear said nothing, pulling her closer, tears on fur.
Thoughts while making
“Polliwog. Polliwog. Polliwog.”
This word came to me today. And it won’t leave…
Like sun filtering through eucalyptus leaves in Scripps Ranch.
Like forts made of bed sheets and laughter.
Like splashing in Hoyt Park streams, looking for tadpoles hiding under rocks.
“Polliwog. Polliwog. Polliwog.”
Over and over, I kept hearing it…
Like the sound of little feet running along the dirt path behind my childhood home.
Like the rubbery thud of tiny Schwinn tires plunking down after riding off the curb on Ironwood Road.
Like moms calling “Dinnnnneeerrrrrr” out backdoors, and kids scrambling in for the night from all across the neighborhood.
“Polliwog. Polliwog. Polliwog.”
On repeat, evoking a feeling…
Of safety.
Of trust.
Of then.
When you could go down to Lavicio's with a dime and change and come back with a pocket full of candy.
When you could explore on (seemingly) endless trails without a care in the world.
When the thoughts and worries of a 7-year-old kid were (mostly) right-sized, and internal.
Mine was a wildly privileged childhood, I know.
And sheltering can leave one exposed to much.
And the world wasn’t all rainbows and icing.
Yet, today, I’m left wondering where have all the polliwogs gone.
Where can you find polliwogs in your day and share with a loved one and/or stranger?