There’s a little magnolia tree at the top of the hill near our house (it’s spring in Australia). The only blossom that was low enough for Margo to smell, was one that was not fully open. She took a long deep sniff of the partially opened flower, and said, “I wish I could pull it open so we could see the whole thing.”
“Well, if we did that, what would happen?” I asked.
She paused for a few long seconds and considered. “If we pulled it open, we would break it. That would be really sad.” Read the rest of this entry