Is imagination something that’s inborn? Is it something that develops after birth? Is it a gift of the spirit? Or a reward that’s earned? Is it the product of certain genes? The outcome of curious play? Personally, I think it’s all of that and more. And I’d also be willing to bet that as long as humans have indulged and exercised their imaginations, and wanted to share their stories, they’ve turned to wood.
just picked flowers. an ice cream cone. harmless mischief. light through green trees, tag through the tall grass. sunday afternoon. the quirk of your smile right this second. your first childhood and my second … don’t stop.