In Which I Glory in the Sunshine of Childhood

Dear Void,

Today I went for a walk on my mountain. (Yes, like Maria in The Sound of Music, I have my own mountain. Accept it.) I went to feel the sunshine and perhaps find some Indian Paintbrush in bloom (silly me, it's much too early in the summer for that.) I had forgotten what was truly magical about my mountain: imagination blooms there as well, regardless of the season. And if you listen very quietly to what the wind says, it will tell you a story that may change your simple walk into a marvelous adventure.

Naturally, just as happened many years ago, when I left civilization behind me and entered a rocky terrain of endless possibilities, I became a princess. Don't judge. I was on a quest to find--well, I wasn't sure at first what I was hoping to find, but that is the joy of making it up as you go along. It was a dangerous quest. I had a long way to go.

Before long I entered a forest, thick with bears and wolves and possibly giraffes. Anything is possible!

Next came the exhausting battle for survival as I crossed a perilous desert. I was dying from thirst.

Thankfully, I was saved. The butterflies showed me how to get water in the desert, and I continued my quest.

After many struggles, I came to a field of flowers which were no doubt magical. I knew this was what I needed to find.

I came home from my quest, satisfied that I would save the kingdom.

Don't mock. I'm certain that my morning was more exciting than yours. I came down my mountain, and as I returned my castle became my home again, the grasslands around it my lawn. I ceased to be a princess. And yet the joy of discovery stayed with me. The magic stayed in my heart. Why is it that we ever stop playing pretend? We allow our imaginations to dwindle, and why? To be so lost in fantasies that you cannot see reality is unhealthy, yes. But I would argue that to be so lost in reality that you have no dreams at all is equally damaging. To dream is to create, to inspire, to come to life. I hope never to be so grown-up that I lose the child in my heart.

If you listen closely to what the wind says, perhaps you will hear it whisper a story to you. And if you are quiet, if you are still, if you bring with you no contention or anger, perhaps you may come with me to my mountain. And perhaps it will whisper a story to you as well. Perhaps.

Where will your imagination take you today?