Wrecked

There's this great amorphous mass of a thing that creeps about our house. It's composition constantly changing - a thing in flux.

I found it at 3pm on my daughter's floor, a tangled mass of parts including among other things - a windmill (partially deconstructed), a pirate's galleon (minus crew), a miniature pink pony with rosette and natty glitter-hooves, a cardigan, another cardigan, various tiny items of clothing formed from shiny hard plastic, other parts.

I have given up even pretending to think about how its multiple and diverse elementary parts might be 'tidied' away and have accepted that I have misunderstood the situation here. Not seen the wood for the trees.

The Mass is here to stay, ever changing, always one step ahead, amiable enough but totally unconcerned with my presence. And so, for now, I too shall practice tolerance, not think about it too much and tip my hat whenever I catch its eye.