“Dad, why don’t we ever go on holidays, or travel to faraway places, like other people do?”
“Because we’re a farm family, and we can’t be away from the farm for very long. But I do actually travel almost every day, and you can too, you know.”
“You don’t travel, Dad! You’re always here, so how can you say that you travel?”
“You don’t have to leave this place in order to travel, you know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you never felt transported to a different place or time while reading a book? Have you never travelled to exotic places in your dreams? When you’re listening to someone describe a different place, have you never been able to close your eyes and imagine yourself in that place?”
“I guess so, but I’m still not sure that I understand.”
“Tell you what, go into the house and bring me some of those walnut shells I saved at Christmas, some toothpicks, a piece of wax, and some paper. Oh, and also your “Child’s Garden of Verses” book.”
“Right, I’ll show you how to make some boats, in which we can take our little journey.”
“We can’t fit into walnut shells, Dad!”
“Oh yes, we can, in our imaginations. There the boats are ready, so let‘s get into them and we‘ll float away down this stream. Just hand me your book, close your eyes, and off we go. ”
Where Go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating–
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
-Robert Louis Stevenson
To read about more dream journeys, head on over to Sunday Scribblings.