Sunday in the Jungle

We went to the Royal Botanical Gardens today, in search of a little break from the minus twenty-five windchill outside. The last time we were there, Spilly was about eighteen months old, and we wheeled her through most of it in a stroller--not an easy task, as the place is beautifully landscaped on multiple levels and is not really stroller-friendly.

Today it was much better. We pushed open the glass doors and entered the fragrant, tropical world within. Ferns, palms, fig trees, primeval pines, hibiscus, and everything else you can imagine, rose up on all sides to greet us. My blood pressure immediately started to drop, and I began to believe I might actually feel my fingers and toes again.

"Ohhhhh," Spilly said, awe in her voice. "It's the Jungle!"

"Yes," I said. "It's the Jungle!"

"Come on, Mommy, let's go find it!" She grabbed my hand, and started pulling.

"Go find what? The Jungle? It's right here."

"No," she said impatiently. "The LION."

"What lion?"

"The one who is always sleeping in the Jungle."

I stared at her, until it dawned on me. "Oh, do you mean in the song? In the jungle, the lion sleeps tonight?"

"YES!!"

"Well, okay!" I said. "Let's go find it!"

It was pure joy. As we ran around, it occurred to me that Spilly and I get each other in some strange way (maybe because we share a few genes). That said, I'm sorry to report that although we spent the better part of the afternoon looking, the lion was always elsewhere. The closest we came was a cave where Spilly said the lion had been only a moment before.

Not a bad way to spend a freezing January Sunday, just my kid and me, lion-hunting.