Wise words from a wise man.
When we're young there is magic in everything. There are fairies, hiding, in the grass down the garden. Dolls can speak and toys can see, hear and understand. Imagination is a key companion and the stories inside a mind can save us. A secret world beckons inside every lucisiously flowering garden and between the sunshine and the shadows anything is possible. Tooth fairies and Christmas elves watch over us, noting down our good behaviour and rewarding when they see fit. Magic lingers like an ever present coat, warm, toasty, like slipping under a blanket and drifting off to dream.
Then we grow up.
And nothing seems to have the same sparkle.
Sense and logic and cynicism take over. We become bitter, we bitch, we bite. We doubt each other and most of all ourselves because how, how can those dreams we once had ever come to fruition? Not in a world where money not magic talks. Where our job becomes our focus. Our work, not, our imagination. When the daily grind and the slog to get out of bed at 7am replace the leaping excitement of endless summer holidays and magic beneath the apple tree.
When we loose our sparkle.
When we loose our way.
But it's still all around us. And maybe, just maybe, if we can believe again we'll get to sparkle again.