Childhood
Summer days, all is play. Clouds are only fleecily white, sun is warm and never burns. The grass is cool and deep and does not stain.
Fairies flit from flower to flower, weaving webs of peaceful delight. And round the corner, round the bend; may hide a portal to Narnia, may whisper words in your ear, "This is how to find the castle."
Paths all lead to mystic places, spell-bound princesses whom you can save. Faery-footsteps follow you, wood friends come to take your hand and smile. The wind wafts chimes of Elven-singing... patterned leaves rustle under dryad feet.
Dappled sunlight lances through tall, tall trees and send the shadows fleeing.
Of course fairies and elves, of course wizards and dwarves, of course kings and queens, dryads and nymphs, hobbits and gnomes, dragons and goblins! The next day may bring Cinderella's coach past your door; or Aslan padding through the park; or Frodo and Sam asking for something other than lembas to eat. You wave to Cinderella in her starry gown, stroke Aslan's fur and ask about Edmund and Lucy, give the hobbits meat sandwiches and wish them luck on the Quest. This is not a strange occurance. You are a child, and the world is beautiful.
But now?
Life is not always sweet; sometimes the wind blows cold and biting; not all princesses find a prince who stays after the first kiss.
Maybe, though... just maybe - if the wind is in the West, if I can run hard enough and in the right direction - then perhaps my outstretched hands will lift away the gray silk curtain and I will find myself in Middle-earth...
END
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