Tonight dream of a magic swing that lets you soar into a new landscape each time you begin your downward path. You keep your eyes closed tightly until just the right moment, and as your hair is blown backward by the wind, you open them and behold. First a summer scene with all shades of green, aromas of fresh cut grass, and colorful flowers and foul.  Next is autumn and a flurry of golds, crimsons, and orange. The sweet smell of new fallen leaves fills the air and the melancholy sound of the last of the cicada greet your ears. Then a winter picture. The air is cold and makes your ears turn red. In the distance you see tobogganers and sled riders race down a silvery white hill while others sit round a bonfire and drink hot cocoa.  And again as you start your descent you’ve made your way back to summer, this time a soft warm rain falls soaking your hair and clothes, but you mind it not in the least, because your magic swing has restored the gift of childhood granted to those who never stop dreaming.