The Beauty and The Stories

She thought she possibly had some vague idea of a half cooked story probably taking a cloudy little shape in her head.

Knowing her, that was enough.

This would comfortably make for a fascinating fifteen minutes over tea. As I relaxed deeper in my cane chair relishing the cool evening breeze after a not so hard days work, she began.

"Imagine..."


For the next fifteen minutes, that was about all I did as she painted images with words while her eyes danced around like little children, having come late for the puppet show, scampering around to get a better view.

And I imagined.

I imagined how life changes, in a matter of moments, from a bland endless desert to a red, blue, yellow, green, and many more colored underwater coral reef.

I imagined how easy it is to just put your leg up and relish heaven, as you look into the eyes that change colors from happy to chirpy to silent to ecstatic with each line of an imagined story.

I imagined how wonderful it is to imagine, when she tells you, "Imagine...".