Blog#7: The Imaginative Field

Below is the poem from LMNOP and All the Letters A to Z , representing the letter M:

Misty mountains multiply

A million marvelous M’s;

Mingle mint and marigold

In meadows of mystery.

The moon sends down its magic beams,

Making merry melodies,

On the mirrors of murmuring streams.

The following story was written based on the images and sounds I had woven into the poem in order to extend and deepen the children’s experience of the letter M. It is preferable, I believe, to broaden and deepen a given experience, poem, or activity rather than to go on to another one right away. Children want to feel relationship, not randomness.

Mary’s Meadow
It was a marvelous summer day. Most of the morning Mary had meandered through the meadow, swept along by her imagination, like the leaves on the stream that ran through it. Now it was time for lunch.

“Mama,” Mary said, between bites of mashed potatoes, “it is a miracle that we have a place with our own mountain, our own meadow, and our own stream.”

“Yes, my little Munchkin,” her mother replied,” it may not be a majestic mountain, or an immense meadow, or a mighty stream, but they are magnificent nevertheless.”

“Mama, this morning the mist on the mountainside gave me the most mysterious, eeriest feeling. It felt a little like a monster coming down, but I wasn’t scared. Then, suddenly, it was gone.”

“Hmmm,” said her mother, nodding, “maybe the sun had broken its spell.”

Later that evening, sitting in front of the fireplace, Mary said,

“Mama, do you know what I did this morning? I took a handful of marigold petals from the garden and I spread them over the meadow. I called them Mary’s gold. That’s better than money, Mama, because flowers just multiply and multiply. It’s magic, Mama.

“Hmm,” said her mother.

“Then do you know what I did, Mama? I sniffed the mint in the meadow. It smelled so yummy. Oh, Mama, then I lay down on the moss beside my murmuring stream. I like to call it that, Mama, because it really does make that sound as it goes dancing over the rocks.”

“Which sound do you mean, Munchkin?”

“ It goes murmurmurmurmurmur, just like the sound it makes. I listened so hard this morning, Mama. I heard melodies, real melodies. Oh, Mama, I think I will always remember this day,” said Mary, sighing.

“Mama, look out the window. Do you see the moonbeams through the trees? Do you think the moonbeams are making melodies on the stream?”

“Yes, I’m sure they are, Munchkin, merry melodies.”

*The notion of an Imaginative Field came to me as I was writing this story for my companion maual, Working With LMNOP. I liked it because it was a phrase with multiple overtones and connotations, such as that creativity and imagination draw more of the same to themselves, increasing, proliferating, multiplying.

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