Child
I am alone in a gigantic maze. Burst of laughter mingle with squeals of delight, some near, some far away in the distance. My head turns, following the echoes. A smile of delight and expectance creeps onto my petite face as I examine the shiny, lollipop coloured caves. The yellow beckons me, and I allow myself to be willed towards it. Slowly, I lower myself into slide position, and abruptly I'm whisked away down the tunnel of sunshine. Wheeeeee! My hands are clutched tightly in my lap, my elbows tucked away at my sides; far from the stingy plastic. I gain in speed, and the yellow world whips by through my half closes eyes. The gold at the end of my single coloured rainbow leaps into view, and I yell with delight as I am engulfed in a sea of brightly coloured balls, their smooth texture caressing my exposed skin. I hear the rustle of clashing balls as I sink sleepily to the bottom, in a star fish stance. Breathing in, I devoir the sent of my cherished rubber ducky, which lingers long after in my nostrils.
That was then.
Ten summers on I find myself once again at the play centre, although, this time, merely an onlooker. Today my younger cousin (left in my care) is to spend the afternoon playing under my watchful eye. Quite nervous, he grips my hand with an iron hold, eyes so wide I am surprised they don't pop out of his head. I kneel down and whisper comforting words as I gently extract his hand from mine. He takes a tentative step forward and wrings his hands nervously, but I can see from his face he is dieing to be in the mist of the maze that beckons before him. Raising myself, I step back and smile as he makes a dash for it, yet my smile slowly fades into a frown as the magic of the play centre unexpectedly evaporates. Before me I see cheap plastic blocks bent into crude, sickly coloured shapes. I see the mismatched structure littered with chip packets, broken toys and grimy shoes. I see an abused structure attacked again and again by unrelenting children; scrawled on, scratched at, paint peeling away in more than one place. The revolting stench of plastic contaminates the air. Time must have transformed it; my once perfect playground forever replaced by this repulsive wreak.
Yet, as I settle on a chair and cast my mind back to happier times, I realize with a sudden jolt that seeing with the eyes of a child is the magic that I had once, long ago, experienced. It is the magic that comes from within.