My son is digging a hole in the back yard. I've never seen him happier, and it is contagious. His sister joined him about mid-way through the day and now this hole in the back yard has become a project between the two of them. It's a deep hole. Good sized. Out of the way of utilities (I'm pretty sure -- I had them marked when we moved here and I sent him to a space I remember as clear.)
Hubby comes home and son says, "Come out and see!"
Friends come over and son says, "Come on out and see!"
Sister wanders through the house and he says, "Come see! It's a hole. I've made a big hole in the yard."
There is a little part of me that wishes I had some need for a hole in the yard. Yes, I would like to say, put the hole there where we will build a swimming pool, or a duck pond, or a water snake garden. But I have no real need for holes in my yard. And I don't want to risk narrowing his joy by insisting this hole become something practical.
Maybe he will plant a tree. Maybe he will build a fort. Maybe he will find a huge and wonderful dinosaur fossil. Maybe he will sit in his hole and contemplate the workings of the universe.
Maybe he will simply find satisfaction in a big hole, dug well.