I like children's minds because they weave together logic and wild leaps of imagination so seamlessly, effortless in a fashion most writers would kill to emulate. This afternoon one of my young charges told me, "my brother asks weird questions". I said, "Oh?" and he replied, "Yes. He asks things like, 'what if volcanos were cups?' - and I told him
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I used to wonder if the earth was just a giant dollhouse, and we were being kept by some very big rich girl with ringlets and a pink dress who would move us around and make our decisions for us with her stubby little fingers. I still think that, actually.
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This is beautiful. I love children.
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