As a child I imagined 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 it

Ursula K. Le Guin

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