During my ‘travels’ as a writer, as a follower of mythical marvels, a dreamer who shapes words, and a believer in making dreams come true, I have met unicorns.
I met them long ago, when I was a girl… a girl whom animals followed through the streets, who sat under shady trees and talked to the ethers, sending out her thoughts in happy, floating imaginings; who deliberately touched trees as she passed them and climbed rocky, red soiled and sun-struck hills, barefoot. A girl who cradled her pet chicken for hours at a time, stroking the red feathers and telling her things about the magical ministries of nature and fairies, which chickens must already know as they scratch in the yard and roll in the dirt after a day of dozing in the sun.
There was so much to understand and learn about places unseen – hidden places – places where beauty unravelled as naturally as a mountain stream, where waterfalls of galloping horses would masquerade as drops of water, vibrating with essences invisible to the mortal eye. Hanging fig trees with grand canopies hid the music-halls of fairies and, in the tumbling sun-slants of thick forest undergrowth, there walked elves and their consorts, stately beings with watchful eyes.
Humans played no part in these places; they were the scratch that soured the day; muttering and grumbling about the inconvenience of passing thunder storms, moaning about the things they needed or didn’t need, telling a small child what she could, and could not do.
But I knew something then which I lost for a while, and yet, in the blink of an eye, in later life, reclaimed.
I knew that if I closed my eyes and drifted with morning mists or walked barefoot in streams or on dew, if I held a cricket in my hand and listened to its chirp – all the time my eyes shut tight – then suddenly, when the moment chose, the whole world would entangle in a web of perfect silence and, in that moment, it would happen. A brush upon my brow or on my bare-skinned arm and the sigh of a gentle breath… the softest most intangible fleeting gossamer touch would send tingles up my spine. And I knew, I knew for certain, that I had felt the unicorn‘s kiss.
‘What is that?’ you ask, almost believing me. Well, I will tell you this: A unicorn’s kiss is the brush of their forelock or mane upon those lucky humans still unsullied by the mortal world – a child of pure heart – and the merest sensation of their breath accompanies the stroke of their silken touch. Yet in the second that you open your eyes to catch a glimpse, there may only be one thing which, captive in your mortal shell, you may or may not hear – the swish of a step as they leave.
It’s rarer now. Even for the pure of heart, the earth is filled with noise and harsh battering. Fences patch the planet far and wide and trees and forests dwindle from man’s harsh hand, whilst the gentle spirits that care for them are fleeing, eradicated by terror from the human smell and touch.
However, there is still a unicorn forest. It is the last place that immortality reigns and can be shown to us in our frail human lifespan. But I cannot tell you where that is… for you must find it for yourself.
‘Be careful where you tread
On a misty winter’s night
For stories tell of things we dread
But they may not be right
Be careful where you tip-toe
On a morning kissed with spring
For you may see the unicorn
As she stops to breathe dew in
Be careful where you stand and sing
Should you do so near a mountain stream
For you may lose your heart my friend
To the mysteries of a dream…’ © ‘UnicornKisses’
The WISH trilogy – by Deby Adair. – Book 1: WISH-Dreams Beginning, Book 2: WISH AGAIN-Dreams Truth, Book 3: The THIRD WISH-Dreams Honour.
Benny’s Blog: Tips for young creators http://unicornkisses.com/blog/?page_id=240
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