I was walking the path around Mills Park. My mind was cluttered. Things hadn’t gone my way all day.
Three little girls (maybe age 5 or 6) were holding hands in a circle and singing “Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear… Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.”
I stopped and smiled, then laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I sang along. “Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t really fuzzy, was he?”
The rhyme made me think back to being a little Iowa boy. No worries. No fear. Just joy.
How wonderful: a tiny moment can take us from useless fretting to spontaneous jubilation.
A true fan