I woke up to rain this morning... beautiful, sweet sounding rain. I love it. I always have. Rain used to give me my greatest inspiration when writing, and to some extent it still does, but it's changed somehow. I still prefer to be writing during a thunderstorm than any other kind of weather and it still always puts me in the mood to write, but it no longer holds power over the material that I write. It used to be that when it rained I would find something magical and mysterious about the rain itself to write about... that imagination doesn't come to me so easily anymore. I do however consider myself to be one of the lucky ones that have not completely lost their imagination. I still see magic in everyday things, yes, even the rain sometimes, and I still create magical lands and characters in my novels. I feel disappointment and sadness for those who have lost it completely. Perhaps my imagination has lingered due to my artistic/creative nature, in which case I am thankful for those qualities in myself, more than ever.
We are all born with an imagination. You can see the proof in this behind every smile and every laugh of a young child or if you ever listen in on little girls playing with their dolls and little boys with their cars. It just comes so naturally to them, as though there is no other way to live. Some must believe that it is the childrens' gullibility, and that it's only because they will believe anything you tell them. But I don't think that's true at all. I believe that it's their innocence. They have not yet been taught the sometimes cruelness of reality and therefore they see things through fresh, unaffected eyes, and at that point things can be anything they want them to be. Or perhaps, there really is magic in everything, but we lose that faith the older we get. Either way, I'd say it's us, the adults, that are gullible. We listen to what science and other people tell us to believe... unicorns aren't real, they never were. Faeries don't exist. There is no man in the moon, it's just rock. It is the children, who think for themselves, and see the wonder and beauty of everything around them. It is us that I feel sorry for. Now don't get me wrong, I don't expect to walk out of my front door and see a unicorn prancing down the street, but I also believe that there are more things out there than we allow our meager minds comprehend.