Mere Clouds

   I took a look at the clouds on my way home from work today. They were large, fluffy white cumulus clouds; the kind you see shapes of creatures and strange forms in. I remember as a child, with my vivid imagination, I could make out all manner of mythical forms of creatures in them, but today I found myself blank. In each distinct cloud formation, I tried to see something -- anything other than a cloud. Crestfallen, and even a little bitter, I came to the realization that I had finally lost the magic of childhood. Adult life had caught up with me, and I had forgotten how to play. I had once told myself that I would never lose that creative imagination that childhood bestowed upon us all, and today I realized that it had dwindled away without my noticing.

   On that same note, most of us have lost much of the wonder and magic that comes with the ignorance of childhood. When we were all children, the impossible seemed real and very probable. That monster under the bed, that ghost story, the idea that faeries might actually exist; all of that seemed very real to us. And why shouldn't it? In our young and ignorant minds, reason had not disproved it yet and led us to think ‘That is nonsense.’

   Maybe that’s why I thirst for knowledge. Because every time I learn something I didn't know before, a tiny bit of that magic and wonder comes back, even if it’s lost to reason an instant later.

Is it possible to practice imagination? If so, would it do any good?