A dinosaur in a tree. The clouds to dance upon and raindrops to dance between.
Our parents, who know everything.
All the tiny, moving things that live amongst us on the ground.
The rings, and trinkets and holy stones, which others dropped so carelessly.
These are our magic years.
Grown up now, with watch, wallet, and papers to prove I actually did something after I turned 18, I still get a glimpse of all those things. You probably know to whom the credit should go…
Here’s my random list of childhood magic:
- Firmly believe there’s a room in the house or a piece of the garden I haven’t seen yet. (I sometimes still dream of Escher-like hallways and stairs at night).
- To move silent as a cat, fast a horse and light as a butterfly.
- To pull out Excalibur with a single hand. (Thank heavens this wish has not been granted. The previous one neither, now I come to think of it. The first one? Who is ever, ever going to be sure? Just believe).
- To see the beauty of yellow + blue.
- A caleidoscope.