My first bucket. I was five I think, it was so long ago. Its galvanized sides glistened in the morning sun, tempting me. It was much older than I, and almost as big. It whispered causing me to lean in closer... "Come play with me." Dare I? Had I not been told not to play with strange buckets? And the old galvanized washtub, a perfect match. Looking around, no grown-ups in site. I placed the bucket in the tub. It clanked so loud I was afraid my parents would hear. I then dragged the tub to a hidden corner of the yard, and grabbed the bucket from within. Racing
, I speed to the forbidden creek. That haunted domain that pulled at me, whispered my name, and caused my parents so much consternation. They had given up on trying to keep me from it.
The bucket soon joined me in its shallow depths. Small fry, an occasional fish
, crawdads found themselves captured by small hands and placed inside. Then off to the tub carrying my prize, to surreptitiously be dumped within the tub's confines. I captured all manner of creatures; fish
, crawdads, snakes, horny toads, kittens and puppies, even once a baby bird. I filled it with dirt or water
, rocks, blankets, toys, read books
in it, whatever my heart desired. My parents always wondered what happened to them.
My favorite toys, that bucket and the tub.