How many times have you felt brush of childhood while snuggled deep in blankets at night and the sea of fantasy washes up? I woke this morning feeling as if I went back in time to where life was simpler and more dastardly.
This is a world that takes my breath away. It’s where little fey creatures take offense too easily. It’s why I was trying to save my sister/daughter/niece/friend from the wrath of Bugaboo Prince. She called him a sweet little girl. But it wasn’t her fault. He was merged half in and half out of Faerie land. I suppose any one of us could assume a wisp of fancy floating on the breeze in decorous otherworld fabrics might be female.
And, oh so many faerie creatures floated on the wind this morning. I watched transfixed! This garden is where the colors of flora transcend into more than sight and smell and feel. It’s where the green and flower colors explodes throughout your very heart and cross-links every cell like a warm internal hug.
I didn’t realize how much I missed the giddy free sensation of floating weightless and it’s strange that I questioned its logic. I wouldn’t have when I was eight years old. I think that was the age when I floated weightless for the first time. I turned somersaults in my parents’ living room before I floated out to the garage. I would soar into the sky and travel to Venus but my mother stood before the door like a Samurai warrior, broom in hand and even though I flew and became invisible, I could not pass. She saw me despite the fact I defied reason.
This time traveling to a place where I could float, I wobbled at first but the more I breathed in the dew-drenched morning air, the more I lost my reserve. I sailed between tree branches, brushing dainty petals and smooth leaves, weaving around the bumbling bees. I sailed up into the blue, blue sky and I lost myself for a time. I became sidetracked, I think, by a warm bath sitting in a crystalline room with little songbirds trilling on spindly vines wrapped daintily around the walls. The water called like a siren song. I could see out a tiny window above the enchanted garden but I hesitated, uncertain of what I wanted to do first and in that hesitation, I woke to see a little cherub’s face grinning up at me.
I’ve had versions of this dream countless times. It’s one of two reoccurring dreams: the weightless floating and the door that isn’t always there. And when I wake from these particular dreams, sometimes I leave a part of myself behind unintentionally. But the sea of fantasy deposited me gently upon reality’s door when I opened my eyes. I sit here typing, occasionally looking out my backdoor window to April’s green.