Why do we stop believing? Why does our imagination go to sleep, and rarely show itself?
Today I began outlining a part of my next novel, and for some reason this popped into my head. Why?
Why do we allow the magic of this world to fade?
We reach a certain age, and begin to hear ‘it’s time to grow up – take on some responsibilities’. I say poppycock! The two do not have to go hand in hand. Yes you need to be responsible, and make tough decisions: be an adult. What does that have to do with growing up?
There needs to be more magic in our lives. Go back to days laying in a bed of wildflowers, listening to fairies giggle all about you. Days where your decisions depended on a daisies petals. Creating bouquets from dandelions. Rain never stopped anything from happening, only changed what was going on.
I remember picking up a stick and pretending it was a wand. “Grow taller” I would order a tree, and it would respond by stretching even higher into the sky. Standing on a cliff I would demand the wind blow harder, and it would make certain to act accordingly.
So dance in the rain! If you take children to a park, play with them. Stare at the clouds, and create a world of your own within the shapes. Use a daisy to make a choice. Play and laugh.
Bring back magic lost. You just might be better for it.