Lois Lowry's Blog
All kinds of narrative
Yesterday afternoon, here in Montana, my two grandsons and I hunkered down by the small stream that flows past my cabin. Using stones and twigs and sticks and plants, we built a miniature village with a wall around it, a sacred gate, a totem pole, two dwellings, a fire circle, and a path to the huge river, over which we built a bridge. We composed a chant involving the village crane (he was paper origami, nesting in a tree we had built from a forked stick) and then, chanting, we flew him to the river and let him sail away on its waves.