Wildflowers

So what happens when I just write something random, something nonsensical off the top of my head?
Do you really want to know the things that can cross my mind in an instance, fleeting, like butterflies in autumn?

Well then, let me tell you a story...


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Imagine a girl, young, long auburn hair flowing in a light breeze. She's standing barefoot on a grassy hill, her simple light pink sundress dotted with small white spots dancing as the tiny gusts flip the skirt around her legs. She's holding a few wildflowers in her hand, and a misshapen crown of small blooms and buds rests tangled into the top of her hair. She looks skyward, silently, as the hippo turns into a dragon and swallows a whale.

“Sarah!”

Her face shoots towards the sound of her mothers voice; her almost teal eyes large and innocent. Without a word, clutching her flowers tightly she runs down the hill, slipping here and there on the moist grass, but catching herself as she descends the lone hilltop in the direction of her country home.

“Sarah, what have I told you about going out without a word?” Her mother scolds. “Get inside and get cleaned up, it's almost time for dinner.”

“Yes, mum,” Sarah says, her voice like a sweet song. She runs inside to do as she's told.

-

A young woman awakes in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, clutching her mouth as not to scream out. She lies there, silently, till her breathing calms. Slowly, but surely, she begins to cry, curling onto her side in the fetal position as she sobs into her pillow. After some time, her face crusting with dried salty tears, she sits and takes a journal from her bedside table, and begins writing her dream down; the time, and date at the top.

She sighs, closing the book and whispers “I miss you,” as she clutches the book tightly to her chest. Another sigh, and she places it back on the bedside table. The book is an old and worn one, with a handmade cover of papier-mâché and dried wildflowers.


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Did this draw in your attention, catch something in your mind's eye and make you want to read it? It was curious, was it not? I cannot tell you who the girl really is, or the woman, or what happened... I simply began to write whatever came to mind and this was the result.

So my point and moral? You can learn to write, learn to draw, learn anything you will, even learn to be creative; however true creativity and imagination come from within, on a whim, without any learning.


Be it bright and happy, fun or funny, cute, scary, realistic or even dark. Imagination is what makes stories and creates worlds. So let your imagination soar, roam free, and thrive.

Because creativity “is”.