Summer was the perfect time to let the imagination run wild. I enjoyed nothing more than re-creating my immediate world into landscapes of mythical times and places, for there was no limit to my imagination. And life was only half as interesting without it.
Recently, I heard of the legends of the Loch Ness and Ogopogo monsters. Suddenly, in my imaginative mind, the little stream, filled with the summer’s frequent rains, became a vast lake, and I, a renown explorer. Caught up in the fantasy, I began to wonder if, in fact, Morris didn’t have its own version of Nessi.
I thought maybe I would lie low in the grass at the edge of the water and pop up at random intervals to see if I could surprise the Nessie relative sunning itself. After a bit of thinking, I decided to give it a go.
I hid in the tall grass. I listened for sounds that I thought a large mystical creature would make. With my highly evolved canine hearing, I felt I was at a distinct advantage over humans who have hunted Nessie for decades with no success.
Time passed. It felt like hours.
I couldn’t wait a second longer.
I jumped up on my hind legs. I surveyed the water in front of me.
Nothing. At least nothing that resembled Loch Ness-ness.
But I was not one to give up. For there might be a better vantage point farther up the stream.
Oh yeah. I was on a quest now. It might take all summer, but if there was a mythical creature inhabiting the waters that ran through the park, I would flush it out.
With a bounce, I was off down the road.
Imagination was a beautiful thing. Marred only by the returning of reality.