The fae.
We have them. Fae.
We never speak of them, except to a few who understand. My cousin, Meg. The kids. Cindy. The man in the park with Asperger Syndrome, Padric, who not only assures me that yes, this is possible but that he can provide with scientific evidence that fae exist. He is also Irish....
I find that I need people in my life who are completely comfortable with their presence and not inclined to look at each other in derision when they are mentioned. As if to say, "That is just like her, wouldn't you say?"
I find those people dull and boring. They can make a leap of faith and believe that wafers can be turned into the body of Christ, but not that fae could live in my Hawthorne tree?
I love the fae. Each night of the full moon, we leave them a glass of Irish whiskey to imbibe. Once, when we were on a picnic, T made me crown of clover and pronounced me "Queen of my heart!" I hung the chain of flowers on the Hawthorne tree when we got home that night. It moved to a different branch for several nights in a row, finally settling on the tip top branch where it still sits. The wind, you say? A bird? C'mon. Do better than that.
Once when we were going to be in Kansas City on the night of the full moon, we left the whiskey for them in the early morning hours as we left instead of in the evening. When we returned a couple of days later, we were surprised to see our driveway rife with hawthorne berries and twigs of all sizes. T surmised that we must have had quite a storm while we were gone. Yet, when we checked with our neighbor, he said that no, it had been a serene few nights, no bad weather a'tall.
Drunken fae, we decided.
I like knowing that they are there. A friend of mine who sees them tells T and I that they hold a special love for me. T says that is fine, that "maybe it's an Irish thing." T is not a jealous sort of person. She says she likes knowing that they are there.
Me, too. I wave when I go out to my car. I often hug the Hawthorne tree. A good, firm hug. A two armed one.
But, no, I don't share this story with many. It only belongs to us believers.
We never speak of them, except to a few who understand. My cousin, Meg. The kids. Cindy. The man in the park with Asperger Syndrome, Padric, who not only assures me that yes, this is possible but that he can provide with scientific evidence that fae exist. He is also Irish....
I find that I need people in my life who are completely comfortable with their presence and not inclined to look at each other in derision when they are mentioned. As if to say, "That is just like her, wouldn't you say?"
I find those people dull and boring. They can make a leap of faith and believe that wafers can be turned into the body of Christ, but not that fae could live in my Hawthorne tree?
I love the fae. Each night of the full moon, we leave them a glass of Irish whiskey to imbibe. Once, when we were on a picnic, T made me crown of clover and pronounced me "Queen of my heart!" I hung the chain of flowers on the Hawthorne tree when we got home that night. It moved to a different branch for several nights in a row, finally settling on the tip top branch where it still sits. The wind, you say? A bird? C'mon. Do better than that.
Once when we were going to be in Kansas City on the night of the full moon, we left the whiskey for them in the early morning hours as we left instead of in the evening. When we returned a couple of days later, we were surprised to see our driveway rife with hawthorne berries and twigs of all sizes. T surmised that we must have had quite a storm while we were gone. Yet, when we checked with our neighbor, he said that no, it had been a serene few nights, no bad weather a'tall.
Drunken fae, we decided.
I like knowing that they are there. A friend of mine who sees them tells T and I that they hold a special love for me. T says that is fine, that "maybe it's an Irish thing." T is not a jealous sort of person. She says she likes knowing that they are there.
Me, too. I wave when I go out to my car. I often hug the Hawthorne tree. A good, firm hug. A two armed one.
But, no, I don't share this story with many. It only belongs to us believers.
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