Memoirs of a Faerie

As I walk through the park, I notice the children’s whispers and stares. Could it be they see what their parents cannot? Are the points of my ears peeking out from my hair? Every now and then, I notice an adult regarding me strangely; perhaps they catch the sunset glimmer from my wings when the orange light hits their transparent veiling.  1

I hear a bird chirp enticingly and I cannot help but answer. They share news with the squirrels and bring me their findings; quiet conversations no human can understand.2

Do the babies notice my faerie steps? I tread lightly on the invisible mist, not stomping over hard ground as humans do, yet the children turn at my passing. 3

I see a small blonde girl watching me now. She knows, I am sure. Another girl, who appears to shimmer in my sensitive eyesight, whispers to the human child. I see the mischievous glint in the tattle-tale’s eyes before she skips off to disappear behind her tree; the nymphs love to tell secrets to those willing to hear. The blond girl shyly edges towards me, her small hands clasped behind her back as she leans to look closely at my face. 4

“Are you an angel?” she whispers.5

“No, but I’m like an angel.”6

My left eyebrow twitches in humour as her eyes widen. She doesn’t seem afraid, just curious. This is why children can see what their parents cannot understand.7

I lean in closer. “Look,” I whisper, still holding her eyes in my gaze. I hold my hands together between us, slowly uncapping them as she looks on in awe. Lights sprinkle across the reflection in her young eyes as the fireflies dance for us. They spin on the breezes around my fingers, highlighting our faces with their glow. Suddenly, they spiral off and disappear. 8

Her mother calls now, and the girl dashes off. As I walk by them I hear a tiny voice share in an urgent whisper, ”Mommy, she’s an angel and she makes the lightening bugs dance!”    9