"Far from here was the rim of the descending sun, shades of orange, amaranth hue streaked through the sky, like a palette for a passionate artist. Wispy clouds lining neatly on the reddened canvas. Flaming red were layers of veils, clothing the sky with splendor. But soon they faded away."
"Curtains down, the sky eclipsed."
"Then came the night." I whispered.
Sitting in front of me was my 5-year-old granddaughter. I was sitting on the rocking chair beside the fireplace, telling her my story. She loved listening to them. I continued.
"I walked down the slope and looked up. It wasn't black at all, but indigo, with stars dangling in the sky. They were soft gleaming light, not as bright as the spotlight on stage that hurt your eyes. They shone quietly, like a newborn baby, having sweet dreams."
"Everything seemed so unfamiliar. It was the same path though. The stones, the flowers, they had gone to sleep. Trees at night were charred. Their branches were arms, thrashing at you. It’s cold in the woods. Chills piercing through your body, sometimes you could even feel pairs of preying eyes staring at you. All of a sudden there was a numbness of frostbite. I was teetering through the woods. The moisture of the soil had soaked into my shoes. I crossed my arms to keep myself warm."
"Beams of light penetrated the clouds, a beautiful moon emerged, adorning the night. Shards of moonlight welled above my head. I looked at the luminous moon, such a serene, tranquil piece of art. But the longer I gazed at it, it became eerie mysterious, almost sinister."
"The atmosphere was strange. But as soon as I passed through it. Everything's different. The crystalline stream, flowing like smooth silk. Pieces of rocks were swashed by the water, It seemed like each of them had an untold story behind their unique shapes. The sound of the running stream, the rustle of the leaves, the cries of the owls, yet so majestic, they formed an unearthly harmony. Dew gradually formed, a row of glistening crystals dripping from the branches. Everything was so beautiful and peaceful."
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"But Grandma, where is it actually?"
"You can't find it, my dear."
"You mean it's on the other side of the world?"
"No, my dear."
"You mean it had been destroyed?'
"No no no. It's here." I took her tiny hand and put it on my head.
"But how come it's in your head, Grandma?"
"Come, child." I held her up, let her sat on my lap. I took a deep breath and said,
"Think of it. Imagine. Everything you can imagine is real. A man who has no imagination has no wings. I remember you've said you want a pair of wings and go to every single corner in this world, right? "
"Yes, Grandma." she giggled.
"You might not understand what I'm saying now. But remember, logic will get you from A to Z and past your paper. But imagination, it will take you to everywhere. Imagination is not only for yourself, but share it with others, and inspire them."
"Can I do that? Or only people who are smart?" her voice grew smaller.
I smiled, then hugged her and said,
"Even a person, like me, who's nearly blind can do it. Can't a 5-year-old girl do the same?"
