As a child I used to imagine I could fly. I collected feathers and wanted to melt plastic sandals, press the feathers into the hot liquid and make wings out of them. To fly away.
I also longed to posses a flying carpet. Or a flying horse. Anything to get away, fly high and far and never come back. Now I fly in my dreams. On broomsticks, or vacuum cleaners, as long as I reach Walpurgis Night on time. To dance around the bonfire with the other witches. Sit around in circles eating grilled marshmallows.
Singing and dancing and forgetting life is only a dream.
My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from itUrsula K. Le Guin