Imagination

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I noticed our tree house was looking a little deserted.  I suppose the newness had worn off sometime last fall.  I climbed up with an old sheet and draped it over a few branches.  Soon, two little girls were aloft.  I brought them a bag full of My Little Pet Shop toys, a bottle of water, and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and new magic was breathed into those old limbs.  As my husband and I worked below on the greenhouse, a flood of memories drifted down with giggles and happy chatter.  

I remembered carrying an old blanket from my grandma’s up the hillside to the cliff across the stream from her house.  A couple of rocks secured the pink wall and the hours of imagination that followed.  During that afternoon of castles and knights, princesses and dragons, pirates and treasures, and perhaps even a trip to a distant planet, I slipped down the hillside for a bathroom break, and as I looked back up to the bright pink cloth against a backdrop of brown rocks and green leaves, I was tempted to think it ridiculous and out of place.  That’s what society would tell me.  I thought of the “food and furnishings” and all the worlds behind the “misplaced” pink blanket, and shook my head.  I quickly attended to the business at hand and headed back to my pink wonderland that was perfectly where it belonged.

I looked back up to the tree house.  My ten year old had climbed to a higher platform expanding the horizon of their game and the world of their toys.  For a few short moments there was no bickering, or arguing.  There were just castles and dragons, treasures, and perhaps even a distant planet or two.  I looked above to the old tan sheet.  There was just one thing amiss.  I just wished that old sheet were pink against that background of brown and green.

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