The Fairy Woods

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Do you dare to walk in the fairy woods?

Do not be afraid. The light falls softly here, and dreams slip through the leaves like wind, whispering their addictive songs. You will listen to them, no matter how much cotton you stuff between your ears; they always listen, in the end, for dreams are not just seductive. No, it’s more than that.

Dreams come from you.

How do you keep out that voice when it’s inside your head? How do you deny the things you want, when they are built of every desire you’ve ever had? The tale of Odysseus is a lie, because the siren song does not cease its call when the sound has faded; no, it lives within your breast, and echoes there, and calls you home to the water and the depths.

In the fairy woods there is a stream, a trickle of light that sparkles with life. No darkness here, no hidden depths, and yet it calls you all the same. You would slip into it if you could, because it flows like your blood, home and yet outside of you, and you know that if you could lie down inside it you could feel your heart beat. You could understand what it means to be complete, to be without wanting.

The fairy woods are made of promises. The bark of the trees groan with satisfaction, and when your fingers brush against them, as inevitably they must, you feel the deep bass reverberation of pleasure, and you know it for your own. In the fairy woods you would never need to speak your desires, because they would be known, and never shamed or soured or discarded.

Do you dare to walk in the fairy woods? For here the dreams slip through your lips and leave you wondering, wandering, lost in maybe. For here the water splashes and leaves you thirsty, hungering, needing it to fill the void. For here the trees scratch your skin and leave you panting, leaden and languoring.

Do you dare to walk in the fairy woods?

 

 

Photograph by Caitlin MacKinnon. Caitlin is a photographer, illustrator, writer, editor, and all around incredible person. This is her first foray into publicly displaying her photography. Ain’t it grand?