“I can make allowance for you, Mr. Harrison, because I have an imagination. I can easily imagine how very trying it must be to find a cow in your oats and I shall not cherish any hard feelings against you for the things you’ve said…”
Anne of Avonlea, L. M. Montgomery
Yes, an imagination. ‘Tis a precious thing, and I am quite thankful and glad for mine.
What is an imagination? It’s a candle you take the time to burn, a tree you bother to prune, a cucumber garden you trouble yourself to water. It lightens your life, it shades you from the heat of the world, it’s a sweet relief at the end of the day.
Some people don’t have an imagination, and I must say, it is quite sad to watch. People who have no imagination, I have to say, aren’t bad people. I suppose in some ways it shields them from certain mischief—But in other ways, I am sorry for them. Have you ever noticed that people with imaginations have a certain spark in their eyes, that glimmers when they talk, draws you into what they’re saying? You can almost see the Poppies of Possibility sprouting up in their mind, swaying Dorothy to take root and stay.
An imagination is a special thing, and I just had to say that I thank God for mine, and hope you are equally grateful for yours, dear friends.