The low chime of the grandfather clock in the hall reminds me that I’m not asleep. And again an hour later. If I listen, I can hear the shush and pull of the ocean. The moon sea-rises here, casting a glamoured road across the water. On nights like these, when I can’t sleep, I creep to the balcony window. And I imagine I am stolen by water fae. Thieved out the window and down the hill to the beach, and given rights to walk the moon road. To skip on fairy feet along the glittering until I reach where the mer-people hold their counsel. I long for the thieving. Keen for it. I wish with every piece of my 8 year old heart. Because I know, I know, that there is so little magic to be had. So little grace and wonder. Less so as 8 becomes older. And the deep belief of childhood leaks away. So I hope and hope and hope that the magic steals me before it is completely gone.
my 8 year old self was far less grumpy…
I think mine was too, when she was reading Nancy Drew
That clever titian haired sleuth!
And now that I am not 8 years old I am complicent with the water fae and steal myself away to walk the wild paths and beaches by the moonlight, alone and joyous in my solo flight in places of beauty where other people ask me “Aren’t you afraid to be out there alone?”
I reply, “What is there to be afraid of?”
“Other people??” is the timid answer.
“But you just said I am out there alone. There are no other people. They are afraid of the dark, which is not really dark, not even in the dark of the moon when starshine will light the path once your electric light dazzled eyes adjust.
Sorry I haven’t been around visiting much lately….
I love to walk at night too🙂 And besides, if we were always held back by fear, we’d never do anything🙂
complicit, begods
This made me smile.
Glad.