For the past week, my 10 month old pup, Hero has been bringing small pieces of white cardboard inside the house. He then lies at my feet and begins chewing, ripping and swallowing them. Better it be cardboard than sticks, I think. He is slow to out grow the chewy stage of puppyhood.

There was only one place he could be getting these bits of cardboard from.

At the end of our garden is a shed where unloved things live. It’s mostly for furniture and stuff I don’t know what to do with. Lacy spider webs decorate chairs, desks and tables and it has become an excellent playground for a family of pale skinned bug eyed geckoes.

Today, when Hero brought another piece of cardboard into the house, I decided to investigate.

On the floor under the once loved kitchen chairs, I found what was left of a ripped cardboard cylinder, the kind that comes with red plastic ends.

And there, beside the chewed up pieces were the torn remains of an unloved story from more than a decade ago. The paper felt like parchment as it fell away in my hands.

It’s a story board for a picture book I created before I was published, never knowing that I ever would be.

What’s left are snippets and I am reminded once more of the journey I am travelling. And the joy this journey has given me.

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ~William Wordsworth

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