Other pictures had been drawn.
Their stories told and hung on walls.
But this one could not be still.
It resembled childhood dreams of mine.
And as it moved across the room, it began speaking.
It told me about myself and about my home, and my youth.
How we’d splashed in color-filled ponds in daydreams, and basked together by moonlight.
And as I stood staring at this piece of art, listening to all of the places we had been together, it gave me back the ability to dream as I had as a child.
It gave me permission to venture past the flatness of what I saw.
It gave me a chance to look inside and wander around in a space beyond myself.
Letting loose in me the wide open wonder of imagination.