There is a magic in childhood that is so powerful it exists in many of us far into adulthood. We are the lucky ones. The ones that hold onto the magic of belief. Grip it tightly in our grasps – we hold steadfast to the power of dreaming. Of believing. Of imagination.
I’d like you to meet William (as well as his big brother and his momma). In these photographs he is two years old and filled to bursting with wonder. This fall we spent an evening in a sun-filled park. Screeching. Squealing. Laughing. Running. Chasing.
We ran for what seemed like hours, but I couldn’t catch him. I was chasing a boy, but the boy wasn’t evading me. He was busy running after fireflies and the last rays of the setting sun. William was adrift in that place that Maurice Sendak wrote about. The place where only things you want to happen, happen. The place where your imagination becomes reality and your dreams come to life.
William was lost in daydreams.
And I was content to watch – as there is no better place to be.
