The past few weeks, we have had the kind of indecisive weather that is characteristic in our area. Sunny and 80 degrees one day, followed by torrential downpours, followed by foggy mornings and grey afternoons...having lived here for most of my life, you would think that the exasperation would give way to resignation. Mother Nature doesn't seem to care that I am stomping my foot at her and huffing.

Our yard is a mess - fallen leaves clutter our deck even as the new buds appear on other plants. Our lawn is overgrown in some places, and absent in others. Watching my children scamper about yesterday, imaginations running wild, I grew a little misty.

Of course, I'm ALWAYS a little misty. I mean, hello, I cry when I hear the song O Susanna. Because? I don't have a clue.

Anyway, there I was, supervising the beasties as they enacted a huge drama about dinosaurs escaping from the wastelands (my lawn, hah!) and climbing into the high mountains. My youngest was negotiating the play structure like a chimpanzee, yelling "I up!" at the apex and then scrambling down the other side, cheeks red from trying to set a new speed record for descent, I suppose.

My kids are going to totally kick ass on Survivor obstacle courses.

So, there I am, misty-eyed, because it's been YEARS and YEARS since I've felt my imagination just seize me like that. I don't remember how to play like a child. I go through the motions, sure. But I don't have the ability to lose myself in a fictional situation of my own creation, to become a dinosaur in peril or a bird protecting her nest.

My head is always full of the concrete, the here and now. The bills to pay, the meals to make, the obligations, the laundry...just the facts, ma'am. Even as I read stories or play games with my children, I can't seem to lose the inner nag, the one holding the whip and reminding me that I have grown up things to do. Not that I actually DO them, but I can't seem to shake her off or get with her program so she stops with the finger shaking.

I remember spending afternoons on my stomach, grass tickling my belly as I pondered the tiny clearings between the clumps of grass on our lawn. I imagined the tiny people that could live there, how shady and green their world would be. I remember running down the field behind our elementary school, headed for the gully that separated the school yard from the park next door, believing that if I just ran fast enough and jumped at the right time, I could fly, if only for a minute or two.

I want that back. I want the magic, and the mystery, and the hope and the belief back. As sure as my children have it now, I want it, too. And I want to safeguard it for them, so that they never lose it.