HERE WHERE WE LIVE

Our world is peopled with believers of fairies and magic. Our thoughts are edged and trail alongside a land you may not be familiar with, if believing is not in your realm. Morning radiance tucks-in the edge of darkness, ignoring the boundaries. Knowing that other places don’t matter or exist.

But we are not alone on this road. We are not the only ones who have been hypnotized by the Loon’s song and the chattering nonsense of geese that glide softly above the waters. We are not the only ones who walk this wooded path into meadows and marshes beyond a mortal’s reach. Where giant toads morph beneath moist ferns only to surface again as sprites in some hidden nature that only we, who believe, can see.

Our world is peopled with believers of elves and trolls. Of dragon hearts that soar over the ocean and into the forest, and woods of moss-laden dimness sheltered in thick cool mists. Believing the impossible makes it so. A phantasmagoria of tales that ring bells in our spirits and shows us the colors of life until our eyes ache with them.

And, just because we see them through our mind does not mean they are not real: the fairies and sprites; giant morphing toads; the dragons; the elves; and the tellers of tales. They push-up through the old and bleak, and forge onward into the sun where life has shed her duly hoar and makes visible only to those who believe, the dream

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