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Saturday, 27 April 2013


  27th  April 2013.  

I drew an index finger along the condensation, creating the outline of a heart and peered outside. The mist was rising and beyond, a hint of blue bell woods. A place of childhood dreams, I longed to re-visit. Without awareness, my coat was fastened and I’d set foot outside in search of bounds beyond imagination which today I felt had to be set free, whether by my own volition or perhaps, supernatural force.

In the midst of the woodland, I sat, spreading my coat on the cool floor carpeted by the most wondrous of flowers, harbingers of Summer and in the breeze they tinkled like bells heralding a faerie wedding.  Shielding my eyes against the sun glading the green-ness, I wondered what lay beyond the natural horizon dictated by lakes of lilac flowers, blurred in their thousands, yet each unique as humankind. Respectfully, I traced a natural pathway towards the edge of the woodland, where a road intersected and I wondered about the past and how it could influence the future, in a real and meaningful way. The scent of bluebells permeated the skyline, imprinting shapes of creatures I did not know and the myriad of purple, indigo, violet overpowered me and I swooned, reaching out for a clump of blue bells to steady my resolve.

I awoke to the sound of a harpsichord or some such instrument and followed in pursuit of its mellifluent chords. Eventually, I arrived. Beguiled by jewels encrusted in each key, ornamental note cascaded with each ornamental note, flowing from this ghostly instrument which appeared to be powered from energy created by itself.  

 “There’s no-one there, I exclaimed. 

Oddly, I was the only one to notice this and turned swiftly. My eyes widened onto a bustling thoroughfare, and a hand grabbed mine. I looked down at its knarled fingertips and smiled. The pixie released my grip and spanned his arms. He did not speak, however the expression on his weathered face was clear.


I no longer felt an outsider and stepped into the hubbub.

Each moment seemed precious as the first, and I wondered about a giant kaleidoscope being turned for my amusement.  Each step unravelled greater delight. Children crunched gleefully on candy floss and liquid mahogany dripped from toffee apples onto their fingers. Cartwheeling towards an ice cream cart, their pointed ears poked from candy striped bonnets and I wondered what lay beneath their sickle shaped footwear. Inside a starched white tent, elderly matrons judged the quality of strawberry flans, there was all manner of preserves neatly arranged in rainbow hues on trestle tables. I reached forward to taste honeycomb meringue, however a hail of confetti swept across my toes and I swept around. The pixie returned to my side and led me over a hillock to a maiden astride a golden-maned creature, its striated horn appeared made of a substance resembling glass. Each step seemed deliberate, as though I were important in some way to the entire day. I felt each footprint impress the Earth as I walked forward.

And still the harpsichord played on – “Sound, no sound, sound.”

Shells adorned her hair and as she leant over the creature’s neck, I inhaled blue bell scent. The watery nature of her eyes, suggested she was mourning a loss. She reached out and her touch was like silk stroking rock.

“A unicorn!”

No one seemed to hear my words, exclaimed in delight, as all heads were turned towards the maiden. A tail swished and the unicorn cantered out of the fairground, I watched until it faded from sight, my arms clutching my chest against a sudden chill.

Side stalls closed. The candy floss seller quickly dismantled his cart and rolled it on square wheels down an embankment into nothingness.  Children were ushered away by guardians and the light dimmed. The harpsichord continued to throw notes into the ether, which quickly gobbled them up and transformed them into the shape of swans which floated in the night air, and I watched an airborne river of diamonds which cast gem stones in my direction, which I caught and returned skywards. It was a delightful game which I played, until the notes became sparse and I woke.

I unfurled my palm, and in the darkness of blue bell woods, I found a phial of faery dust which glowed luminescent and a hand written note. Within the safe confines of log cabin, I lit a candle and read the childish scribbled font.

“Guard your dreams for they are your life.”
(c) Phyllis Anderson 2013.


  1. May you, me, may we all dream on.

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