The Little Wooden Chair

I’m your little chair.
Come rest a minute.                                                            
Feel the floor under your feet.                                                            
Lay your arms on my arms.                                                                    
Let me hold you still while you be who you are.                                                 
I’m your little chair.                                                                      
Curl in my lap and let’s read one of your special books.                                       
I will not move from under you.                                                            
I’m here while you plan your next adventure.                                                 
I’ll be still and sturdy for you….                                                
Unless…you need me to take you to imaginary places on your magical living room carpet.         
If you need me to move, I can.                                                          
Just tip me over, climb on my back and off we’ll go!

Little Chair The little wooden chair sat in the corner of the living room. It sat quietly, and very still, looking quite distinguished. The arms and legs grew from branches of the old walnut tree in my Daddy’s backyard. The back slats were curved and carved from old bamboo, as was the bottom tightly caned from its thin strong slits. The rounded legs and arms were worn smooth, covered with old patina that could have told stories by itself. But the most fascinating thing was how the rounded pieces of wood that formed the back of the chair, were worn flat on the back. They almost looked like flat blades on a well-worn snow sled.

When the chair was tipped on its back, adventures began and along them followed sheer moments of delight. From there, we sat on some of the leg slats and went for a ride across the carpet, pushed from behind by our strong Daddy who was making car and train whistle sounds! Whoo-ooo whooo-ooo! we’d sound as we pulled our imaginary train whistles in the air and held on tightly as he slid around the curvy train tracks on our carpet. Magical moments with Dad.