It kept the kids on the brink of excitement for twenty minutes. Amazingly they took turns being the one who got to wind the handle, but all of them erupted into gleeful shrieks every time. 

Occasionally one of them would move the knob backwards, and the music would stop. That clued them in to the need to go in the other direction. Which they did. Having leaped out ten times in a row, one might think the anticipation would wane. But it didn't. Also, I noticed that their laughter was not nearly as effusive once the bear bobbed calmly in place. It was the point of uncertainty, wonder, relief, with a dose of barely bridled fear that jumped out of their throats at the precise moment that the bear burst out of the box.

The only mechanism keeping the sproinging animal locked inside is a small red catch.  Smaller than the nail on my pinkie. But until it leans back, Jack is in the dark. 

Sometimes I feel like that bear. I am trapped in a box of resentment, or anxiety. My thoughts spin round and round on repeat. Even I am sick of them, but the possibility of going in a fresh direction doesn't occur to me. Until it does. The desire to critique John's behavior, or weigh in on a friend's choices leaves me feeling cramped. Then the impulse to control them leans back... and I am free. 

And the angels explode with joy.