This is a page taken from an old Nursery Rhyme book that my Grandmother used to read to me.
I have such fond memories of sitting on her lap in her green rocker. Her arms around me holding up a book and her voice reciting it in my ear. How I loved to be read to by her. I can still hear her saying, “little hen, little hen.” From The Little Red Hen.
As children the impressions we absorb are magical. Later in life they emerge as memories and we are able to notice them as being part of the fabric of who we are.
It is fun to peek through the eyes of a child again and remember those moments we cherish. Those people who made our memories… memorable. It’s in these moments we can begin to remember who we are. We are children. Always. And the world is still magical. This I promise you.