DISCOVER
I remember, aged perhaps six or seven, pondering whether dragons were real. Were there really scaly creatures that could breathe fire and fly? I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps there was somewhere out there in the mystery of the world where dragons did roam?
My grandfather owned an old atlas – faded and inked with countries and continents, oceans and mountains I knew nothing of. I would explore those tantalising pages and discover exotic place names – Samarkand, the Sahara, Timbuktu, Kathmandu. Over fifty years later, I have been fortunate to have travelled to many of those places, and I still get a thrill stepping into a new country.
As we move past childhood and discover the harder realities of life, many of the magical thoughts we harboured as children fade. We can be at our most inventive, creative, and free-thinking in our juvenile years. My inner child remains – eager to explore still with journeys not only of the body, but of the mind.
I write to explore – to inhabit unreachable places, to hear the voices of people who do not exist, to witness events that may never come to be. In the mind, the impossible can feel real. Where would we be without our imagination – that stellar muse and blessing of the artist?
I know now that there is a place where dragons dwell, in fiery lairs. All I had to do was imagine them into existence.