When I was a little girl, I was convinced I could fly. Well, not really fly, but float. I could float down the stairs, as long as nobody was looking. I could move down the stairwell without ever touching a step. I could do it because I was a little girl, and that made total sense to me. I knew that adults couldn't do it, and that they would never understand if I told them, or if they saw me. I knew that someday I would get too old to do it anymore.

It happened one day when I was between three and four years old. (I find it amazing that I can recall a lucid thought at that age) I stood at the head of the stair well, and nothing happened. I remember thinking, "I must be too old for that now." Accepting it calmly I walked down the stairs for the first time in a long while. Always before it was an unwilled action. I stopped at the first step, and it happened. I let it. It never suprised me. It just was. I never asked why or why not.

I've read that young children often confuse their dreams with reality. I've thought that was the case with my floating. I wonder now though, if it wasn't my first taste of the magic and fantastic qualities of life that the reasonable mind refuses to believe, the logical eye refuses to see, what the responsible life refuses to live.

Sometimes I find myself in the most unreasonable, illogical, irresponsible circumstances--
I wonder if everyone lives the same sort of rediculous life I lead. If they do, I wonder if they know.
I wonder if they see it as magic and fantastic too.