Deep within an enchanted forest out pass a gypsy town, many strange beings are known to dwell beyond our sight and sound. Upon their horizon it’s as if time stands still; still time bends to no one’s will. Here sweet dreams spring forth from magical mushrooms and enchanted daffodils.
She was a pretty little fairy with beautiful large exaggerated eyes of blue, transparent wings and sparkles trailed behind her as she flew. She was but one of the many brilliant lights that roamed the hillsides late at night, yet merely a fussy glow in our human sight. Her name was Lilly: she was curious, witty and very much in her fairy prime; I apologize for speaking in riddles and rhymes but only the young at heart can see her and her kind.
Although this is a story about a fairy, technically it breaks the fairytale rules because unfortunately this story is true …
Lilly possessed a restless soul; she was tightly wound and always ready to go. Patience was her heart’s greatest foe. She loved to surf the summer breeze like a robin soaring free, past the hills and beyond the swamps filled with reeds just to see what she might see.
One day she flew a bit too far and as she would often do, she began to dilly-dally; little did she know she wandered smack-dab into Witches Valley. She didn’t notice anything out of the norm as the sun ducked behind the Silver-Lined Clouds of Truth; but for those who reside in this region such was the ritualistic passage of the end of youth.
Suddenly the shadow began to whisper and the wind began to blow; the weeping willows danced about and out of the shadows came forth two eyes aglow. To flight her spirit beckoned her yet her curiosity took its toll; something reached out and touched her with an embrace that quenched her restless soul. Waves of pleasure through her body flowed; she had never felt so alive or so comfortable in her own skin: with rosy cheeks and glassy eyes she bid the shadow “please touch me again.” That day she lost her way, trapped in this overwhelming perpetual thrill; far beyond the measure of magical mushrooms and enchanted daffodils. Things were set in motion and Lilly would never again be the same; time sped up on her horizon and here her destiny changed. When she flew sparkles no longer followed in her trail, and her very own people began to refer to her as the Nightingale.
At first it seemed Lilly had been awakened into a constant dream but then she began to miss her home, the majestic hills of gold and green. She longed for the sparkles that would trail behind her flight and her people who were now but fussy glowing lights.
Perhaps Lilly was bewitched by the shadow and his overwhelming touch, yet inadvertently time catches us in it’s clutch. Lilly slowly lost the magic of her youth and my eyes no longer glow. As for Lilly and I, she left me for a Leprechaun many years ago …
A little long for me.