Afternoon sunlight angled through the trees, turning the hillside into a kaleidoscope of emerald shadows and golden shafts through which a butterfly flitted.
She sat here, as she often did, just high enough to be out of sight, and deep enough beneath the trees so she could imagine she was the last person in the world. Her place was carefully chosen, upon an outcrop of bare rock where sitting wouldn’t disturb the moss which grew in miniature green hillocks. Here and there some small plant rose up, and she imagined it must look as big as a redwood to the fay people who lived in this enchanted place. She would let her fingers run softly over each rise and fall, her imagination turning the sensations from her hands to her feet as she dreamed of walking here, a solitary figure in a world big beyond imagining,
Closing her eyes, she could hear their songs, clear and beautiful in the wooded silence. She could see them, dancing in the sunlight, seemingly dust motes to those who didn’t know. Riding on the backs of moths in the moonlight.
A sad smile played across her lips a she slowly stood, careful to disturb nothing as she brushed herself off. It was time to return to the world beyond the end of the wood.
We’ll be leaving soon to go to the local fireworks display. It’s a few hours away but if you go too late, you’ll never find a parking place. Growing up, this was one of my favorite things and I still enjoy them today.
I think though, the really fun part is watching the boys. For them there is still the magic and wonder. These will be the things they will remember about their own childhood 4th just as I do. This is one of the things which I dislike about growing up… the loss of the magic and wonder which could be found in the small things and the big. In the memories of special days and events which somehow become tarnished… everyday and normal as I have gotten older.
If you listen to the experts, this is called gaining maturity, being realistic, becoming an adult and are lauded as a good thing. I disagree… I think we need those doses of fairy dust, the occasional wisp of magic no matter how old we become. In loosing these, it seems we loose a part of ourselves along the way. We become caught up in the day to day struggles, the stress and worry, the ever growing fog of despair and desperation in which we so often loose our way.
That is what is special about days like this. To be a child again, even for a little while. To be lost in the moment, filled with wonder… To watch as magic unfolds before your eyes.
I had a moment today. One of those moments when it seemed as if I had been standing there forever, a moment which touched me from the past, present and future. There wasn’t anything special in the moment which triggered this feeling. I was on the porch, waiting for the bus to drop off one of the kids. It was a nice day today, crisp, but not cold. A slight breeze which didn’t cut through me like a knife, but was just enough to ruffle my hair. The sun had broken through the clouds a short time before and I could almost imagine it was Spring and not days before Christmas.
I felt this wonderful sense of calm.
I love times like those, when it seems as if I am still a child and the whole world is made of magic.
Cast A Spell
By Kira A. Moore
On the wall,
How far did
Cast a spell,
To make it right.
Who knows what the future holds?
“Not I,” said the fox.
He turned and gave me a toothy grin before darting into the undergrowth. I stared at the green, leafy wall for a moment, listening as the sounds of his passing faded into the surrounding chirps, clicks and whistles. Then I turned my ears from these as well and heard the rustle of leaf against leaf and the whisper of the warm Summer breeze.
Somewhere a brook tumbled over stone while overhead the sky was a blue to hurt my eyes. I smiled a knowing smile and answered,
This is the opening scene for an short story idea. Not sure where it is going, I have a vague idea of it being an “Alice in Wonderland” sort of story with a gender bender twist.
Rachaell’s Antiques was a favorite stop, full of dust, dirt and wonders. Eric could loose himself within the endless shelves and piles of forgotten treasure. He would move from place to place, shelf to shelf, trying to guess what something was. Somethings were obvious, other beyond comprehension, but all interesting. Today though, he had a goal in mind, something he had glanced the previous week but had been unable to return to find before today.
It was a tall mirror buried far back into the shadowed recesses of the store, half hidden by broken furniture. He couldn’t say what was so interesting about what was most likely another broken and useless thing, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Entering the door with its dust encrusted glass, he heard the tiny bell that hung above his head give its usual metallic tinkle, the harsh notes sending a shiver up his spine. No one came to see if it was a customer, but there was nothing unusual in that. He had been coming in for months and yet to see another soul. He simply assumed the owner or whoever was working was either in the back or wired at the counter, though thinking about it, he hadn’t seen anyone there either. The though passed through his mind he should be concerned my this fact, but he had other things the think about and so it was quickly forgotten.
It was easy to loose track of time in the place, with its dim, yellow lighting and deep shadows. After the bright sunlight outside, it was a world of perpetual twilight. He made his way ever deeper into the store, twisting, turning, ducking under hanging banners, stepping over miniature landslides of magazines and crumbling rolls of wallpaper. Each step taking him further from the door, yet closer to where he was sure the mirror waited.
In My Dreams
By Kira A. Moore
The world is drawn
in washes of ink,
colored with the soft kiss
Of watercolors and tears.