I never believed in fairies or goblins or leprechauns.

I was born to a practical family.

But reading fairy tales and magical stories was all I wanted to do.

I had a willing suspension of disbelief, and could believe the stories

without expecting such creatures to appear in the real world.

 

Years later I discovered overgrown garden pathways

and mysterious woods full of the sounds I knew

magic would make. No other places are so welcoming

to me today. No other places so much like home.

 

Down a green tunnel to a fairy castle or a witch’s lair,

Seeking bright eyes and the slight flutter of wings,

I once again become six years old, expecting

the Ice Queen’s sleigh and the wonder of Turkish Delight.