One grows up and forgets how to be a child. To enjoy the present moment. To revel in the joy of doing things for the sheer pleasure they give rather than the outcome.
A friend of mine, Glory, wrote this beautiful poem, which stirred something in me. Firstly, it has so many visuals. And then I had the chance to be a child again. A ten minutes no holds barred drawing in oil pastels. They are that kind of medium.
The poem is reproduced here below:
He wove dreams with me and around me
I will take you to the river
And make you a raft
You can lie there and float
With the current
I'll lift you up by a rope to our own tree house
we will watch the blue moon together
and hear the owl hoot
I will send you love letters on lotus leaves
down the river
I will weave you flower garlands made of buttercups
There are open spaces in the forest
where the bamboo bloomed and died
We will go to the stream where the wild animals drink.
I will show you how the cheetah's eyes
shine in the dark jungle
I will show you how to make baskets
out of palm leaves
And I will make love to you
among the flowers in the hillside
where the birds sing