Out in the woods less than a week after our first big rain of the season, on a level part of the trail where the rain neither sluiced down stream-like clearing everything in its way nor pooled at hill-bottom leaving a sponge like quality to the trail, a multitude of tiny two-leafed sprouts push up, reaching for sunlight, to unfurl in the air. How similar to how the imagination works—given a little sustenance and a plot of open ground, our lives, by their very nature—will give us our own green growth. Within the very dailiness of our lives, have over time, planted seed upon seed, even when we were completely unawares, caught up in whatever tasks the days held. That unsuspecting everyday is imagination’s fuel. Sometimes we refrain from art-making because we think nothing special enough is happening. But if you stop, grab pen and notebook, and begin jotting down what seems obvious, irrelevant, even, or if you pick up a box of colors and a sheet of paper, setting down color beside color, shape within shape, you’ll find your rich imagination has mulched whatever ordinariness the days may have seemed to hold and turned into something more. What’s sprouting in your life, what’s feeding your imagination, what’s there for you to look closely at and transform?