She didn’t think she was particularly imaginative. That talent was reserved for others, she believed — the Lewis Carrolls and Salvador Dalis of the world. So she wandered her days as if in a windowless, grey hallway, plod, plod, plod.
To her surprise, though, tendrils of color would curl through the cracks between wall and floor. All she had to do was shift her gaze to the baseboard, and twining vines burst forth like kudzu. Before long, the grey walls and ceiling were mere rubble in a blooming forest filled with life.
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PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!
