A Pocket Full of Acorns

My four-year-old fills his pockets with acorns on every walk. Dozens of them. I find them in the washing machine, under the couch, in my shoes.

I used to sigh about it. Then one morning I asked him why he collects them. He explained, very patiently, that each acorn is "a tree that hasn't happened yet," and that he's keeping them safe until they're ready.

Now we plant a few every fall in pots on the back steps. Two of them have sprouted into tiny oaks about six inches tall. He waters them with a toy teapot and tells them about his day.

I still find acorns in the dryer. I don't sigh anymore. I just put them in a jar on the windowsill, a jar full of trees that haven't happened yet.