To reminisce is one of the greatest treasures. We have the power to look back on the happiest and most important memories of our lives and smile at the times that were simpler. Reading books is a wonderful thing to do to temporarily escape from the world and leap into the minds of other characters, but sometimes that isn't enough. Every once in a while we need to take a moment or two and leap back into our own minds, our memories and our past. Every one of us at one point in time or another has climbed up to the very tops of our closets or reached into the dusty corners of our drawers and found old memoirs of our childhood. The other day I did just that and the thing that caught my attention the most was an extremely special copy of my personal favorite children's book, Indian Bunny. It was a gift and one of the first books that I was ever able to read on my own.

Though my childhood is more recent than a lot of other's, when I saw this book I was hit with an astounding sudden rush of emotion as I was thrown back a decade. The original author of the book was Ruth Bornstein, but the copy that had been collecting dust in the far reaches of my bedroom was handmade by my birthmother as a gift for my fifth birthday. I clearly remember even now that day nearly ten years ago when it came in the mail. I admired the drawing on the cover, but quickly moved forward to the adventures that were waiting for me inside. As I turned the pages I was awestruck by the hand-drawn pictures on every single page and the obvious effort it took to make the book, but as a five-year-old, my mind soon continued onward. I allowed the tale of the little bunny to take me to the stream and the meadow and the forests with all of the animals. I watched with glee as he spoke to the tadpoles and the owls. I even whispered goodnight when he retired to sleep in his teepee under the stars. Undeniably, I loved this book. It was short, but I read it over and over again and every time I felt as if I were going on another adventure. I was five years old, and I allowed myself to have the imagination of a five-year-old.

Those were the purest times of our lives, those times when we could let the make-believe take over and rule the day. In my opinion, that book allowed me to believe that anything was possible. If one day bunny said "I'm going to be an Indian," then who was to say that I couldn't be an Indian? Looking back on this happy moment of my past instantly turned whatever thoughts I had had into unmitigated delight. I firmly believe that to reminisce is one of the greatest treasures, just as I firmly believe that one day Bunny can become an Indian and travel freely throughout the meadows.