Faeries

Thoughts flit in and out of my subconscious like faeries on the wing. Some are shy and flirtatious, concealing themselves in the thinnest gossamer spun from spider's silk. Others are more playful, sparkling as their jewelry flashes in the sun.

Gregarious by nature, one attracts another until dozens vie for my attention. Some days, they draw up sides to wage an impromptu battle of conflicting ideas, delighting as their miniature swords prick my imagination. Other days they go into seclusion, refusing to reveal themselves for some perceived slight. Then without warning, they streak across the periphery, making me hunt them in an elaborate game of hide and seek. Most days, they converse in tones just beyond my comprehension like the babble of distant water imitating voices.

They love to try on different colors just to see which camouflages them the best. They cloak themselves in the deep blues of a winter sky and in the hazy whites of summer, in the yellow-greens of spring returned and in the myriad flames of fall. They peek out from the gray and dun fur of a chattering squirrel, from the iridescent indigo feathers of a watchful crow, from the charcoal and pearl clouds of approaching rain. Anything that catches my eye or sparks my imagination.

They are drawn to the quiet of the morning and the solitude of night. Deep stillness makes them curious. As I doze in the autumn sun, they light upon my face, tickling my nose with the slippered cat's whiskers of their feet, fanning my cheeks like newly emerged butterflies drying their wings. Through half-shaded eyes I can sometimes see them flitting back and forth like hummingbirds scenting nectar. Should my eyes burst open, they startle and take flight.

On good days the faeries dance before my eyes like dappled sunlight through the maples, whispering gold into my ears in tiny chimes of laughter on the wind. On the best days, I dance with them. I find the motion soothes me.

© 2007 Edward P. Morgan III