My neighbor is our guide on this strange and marvelous journey. Crouched in the shade under her treehouse, or cradled in the faded pink string hammock, we listen raptly to her as she lays out the scene.
It is hard to describe how her games affect me. She gives us a glimpse into fantastic worlds through her words; worlds full of swirling colors, chimerical creatures, exotic places; worlds that soar above the humdrum ash and dust of this world. There is nothing so beautiful as something half-glimpsed, that quick and undescribably lovely flash that is gone before fully perceived. This is what my neighbor shows us. Many might fault her for leaving things only partially explained, for mentioning something but never elaborating. Not I. The flash of beauty, the half-formed dream-image with its vivid colors and strange depth, the twinge of heart that accompanies such a glimpse…that is why I love my neighbor’s games. Not for what she tells us, but for what she does not.