The waves crashed gently on the beach. Seagulls squawked above Sara’s head. She was strolling down the shore with her white flip-flops in her hand. She picked up interesting seashells and held them in her hand as she walked. The palm trees swayed gently in the breeze. The smell of saltwater filled the air. Sara took a slow breath in, sighed, and closed her eyes . . .

. . . “Sara! SARA!!”

“What? Huh?”

“Sara, this is the third time this week you’ve fallen asleep in class!”

“I wasn’t asleep! I was at the beach and . . .”

“Enough! I don’t want to hear it. I’m calling your parents after school.” The class giggled. But Sara wasn’t paying attention. She was off at the beach again.

Later that day, Sara and her parents met with Mrs. Candid to discuss her punishment. “Mr. and Mrs. . . .” Mrs. Candid began.

“Mitty,” Sara’s mom clarified.

Mrs. Candid stumbled for a moment. “Well, then. Mr. and Mrs. Mitty, Sara has been falling asleep in class . . .”

. . . The forest was beautiful. The sun shone through the green leaves and cast an eerie glow over the flowers. Nothing moved. All was silent. Suddenly, a figure peered out from behind an oak tree. Sara was startled, but she recovered quickly. The figure darted back behind the tree, hoping that she hadn’t seen him. Sara took a few cautious, but steady, steps towards the tree. The figure shot out from behind the tree and dashed through the woods. Sara ran after it as fast as she could. It was him. That was who she had been searching for. She ran through the trees at hyper-speed. She needed to catch him. He had something she needed . . .

. . . “Isn’t that right Sara?”

“What?”

Mrs. Candid sighed, exasperated. “Do you see what I mean Mrs. Mitty? The child is so distracted all the time!”

“Well,” she answered, “Sara does have quite a vibrant imagination. The tiniest wonders of the world are hidden from all but small children. If only we could look through their eyes for a moment, we might see the astonishing beauty of the world around us . . .” She trailed off.

Great, thought Mrs. Candid. Now I’m losing her mother as well.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Candid,” Mr. Mitty jumped in. “I guess Sara’s wild imagination runs in the family . . .”

. . . Sara had wings. She was flying above the tallest trees. She swooped down into a nose-dive, straight towards the grass, going faster, faster, and pulling out of it an inch before she hit the dirt. She spun around as she rose again. She wrote her name in the clouds, followed by the word “imagine”.