(I'm not the only one who thinks so.)

I have a pair of piano students,

a dear friend of mine 

and her well-loved child.

During the school year,

their lessons are on different days,

different time zones in the day.

But it's summer, 

and so hence, they come together.

This, at times, means that the well-loved child 

needs to find ways to entertain herself.

[This, at times, means that we have to tell 

the well-loved child to, in fact, entertain herself.]

"I need a friend!" one day she cries,

all up in our face.

"Go upstairs," I say direct,

"for up there a friend waits."

As in: my well-loved teddy bear,

from whence I was a child.

She gets him, she claims him,

she takes him outside.

We see her through the windows and doors, 

wandering around the yard.

Talking to him.

Suddenly, a little head and these little notes begin to appear,

over our piano-working shoulders:

 messages from the child,

and her friend, the bear.

Today I do my own bit of wandering around,

and find this scrap of yellow,

 lost beneath a chair.

I pick it up, and think:

this truly is a magical place,

and I'm not the only one who thinks so.