Once upon a time when I was younger by a factor of 10, meaning I was 4-5 years old (just in case you don't feel like the math and just want a quiet read about kids and fairies).At said Catskills bungalow colony mentioned in a previous post, there were many activities for children - so the adults could play cards or bingo or swim/trifold tan themselves.
Children were arranged into age groups, and set off across the grounds to do 'together' stuff with a leader. Apparently, I used to escape and do my own thing. An early indicator? or a stubborn, misunderstood elle?
Well, I would always slip away while everyone else was excitedly heading sports-fashion in the other direction - of ... my hill and tree.There was a space under the tree on the hill where I could see - and talk with - fairies. The branches hung down to about a foot or two off the ground.
I know you're just going to laugh, so go ahead. I can't even hear it, but if I help you cry in the next post, you'll know what I was going for in the literary juxtaposition deptartment. ;)They were so beautiful and small, - all 9 or 10 of them - these fairies, and they liked me. I used to lay on my stomach for what would turn out to be hours, listening to their songs and their silence too. I didn't feel alone, and that seemed like such a good thing at that time.
I hadn't yet taken in the full advantage of human interaction by then, so there were gaps in the day when I would need something more. I'd go to the tree.They never asked anything of me.
They never made fun of me.
They never scolded or hurt me.We'd just chill to some tunes.I couldn't really sing like them with my voice... but I was able to carry the tune.
Picture: "A Little More Fairy Dust Please" by Mary Baxter St. Clair