Imagine you're out on a bright and breezy day, in late Winter. Your nose is numb and your eyes are watering. The run of short days has squeezed your thinking space, collapsing compartments in your mind. A few drops of imagination make their mark on the pristine surface of your common sense.
At some point along a woodland track you stop, and pick up little pieces of interest. A few pine needles and some brittle twigs. Some tiny fragments of hazel nutshell find their way into a pocket.
Later, sheltered from a biting easterly wind, you roll a small piece of modelling clay, make holes in it for eyes and nose. With nutshell ears in place, a scored smile encourages you to add some spiky hair, horns, and a small cone to represent a legless body. You have decreed that this little chap will get around in his world, by bouncing.
You hold your creation close in your hands, as you emerge into the cold once more. Golden paper birds are singing on pipe-cleaner branches in the Spring tree. With a little more time and more materials, you would eventually come across cellophane flowers of yellow and green, towering over your head…but this is not 1967, and you are only four years old, after all.