Wildwood

A Fairy Tale

One midsummer night,

A little girl was led out of her bedroom by a fairy queen.

She had long curling hair and skin that glowed like rivulets of a stream.

They went down the stairs and out the front door,

Across the meadow, and deep onto the forest floor.

The trees became lanterns, the stream a symphony,

And from the deepest shadows came magical creatures for a night of revelry.

They frolicked and mingled, by water and by fire,

And feasted on berries and danced to the lyre.

When the first rays of twilight began to lighten the sky,

The creatures all retreated and bade her a fond goodbye.

And the girl was discovered, barefoot and ashen,

By villagers who had come with pitchforks and axes.

“You are safe now,” they said, as they bundled her up.

The little girl yawned and said, “But when was I not?”

One night, as she lightly scratched my back, I asked my mother, “Why did the villagers come with pitchforks and axes?”

She paused and then said, “The little girl left her room in the middle of the night. They were worried something bad had happened.”

“Did it?”

“Hmm, what do you think?”

“No,” I said definitively. “The fairy queen was protecting her. She was never in danger.”

A shadow fell across my mother’s face, and she didn’t look at me for a while. Then she squeezed my hand tightly and left the room. That was the last time she told me fairy tales.