On the way to nowhere imagination took a turn. It leapt into a rain-sodden forest, where the crack of leaf and branch underfoot, were dulled and muted by moisture. Inhaling gum-scent and leaf-rot, imagination scanned the forest, and spied a tall and mighty tree. Rubbing fingers over smooth-rough bark, circling the broad girth, imagination paused with palms on the trunk, and felt phloem pulsing with life. Pressing ear gently against the prickle-tickle trunk, imagination heard the rush of water being drawn through xylem, and into stomata, by the water-cycle freedom that existed beyond the confines of the lofty, leafy-crown of the giant.

Resting its tired back on the solid trunk-friend, imagination surged suddenly upwards into the canopy, to be let loose amongst the leaves, branches and birds. Wind spoke in treetop whooshing to imagination, and imagination heard the tinkle of bells, and echoes of ancient faerie in the voice of the wind. Birds cocked heads, chirruped, and looked sideways at imagination, uneasy with its intrusion into their canopy-world.

Smiling at the world and full of resigned determination, imagination glanced down to earth, and saw the welcoming, brown, damp ground. Releasing its grip on the canopy-perch, imagination plummeted through leaves and branches, thundering, screaming, going against the grain, all the way back, to reality.