Today, as my daily walk skirted a local park, I came across a plastic lawnmower and a miniature scooter. Like most people, the sight of toys immediately brought to my mind’s eye a picture of children at play. But there were no children. These toys were abandoned–lifeless, like a fallow field after the harvest or an anchored ship in dry dock. Why do toys so forsaken appear forlorn? If they were in my parent’s garage, they would be mere remnants of a childhood long past. Here in a neighborhood park, they just seemed oddly out of place, absent the innocence and exuberance of their little animators. Considering the size of these toys, the children who played with them could not have been older than 5 or 6 years. Turning my back to the street, I scanned the park for the owners. But there were no children in sight, not even in the play area where the mother-guardians usually looked after their giggling, screeching charges. My mind, riding a wave of free association, roamed freely over images of children at play. I recalled my two daughters at comparable ages. The older of the two often performed arabesques as she flew around the house. I was sure she would become another Margot Fonteyn or Martha Graham. When my younger daughter began to draw on the walls of her room, I consoled myself with the thought that she might be another Picasso. Later, when she showed an interest in all things scientific, another Marie Curie did not seem beyond my prognostication. Their play inspired me to forecast futures consistent with their unlimited imagination and enthusiasm for life. Is this not the way of every parent?

Standing next to that empty park and steeped in my own reverie, I again glanced at the discarded playthings. Their circumstance once again struck me as unusual, but for another reason. My rational mind was succumbing to its normal unimaginative and analytical bent. The toys lay askance alongside the sidewalk. But small children would not be able to push the toy lawnmower or ride the scooter except on pavement. They were deliberately discarded on the grass. Why, I wondered, did the children leave their playthings and not return to retrieve them? What so captured their attention? I walked closer. Sensing something ominous, I began to scan the surroundings more closely. Finally, I turned around to face the street. Beside the curb I found the evidence I sought. Strewn in a fanlike pattern was shattered glass.

I shuddered. What happens in the mind’s eye happens just the same.

I pray, so real the pain I fear,
That god may spare these lives so dear