living in a fairyland
For some of us, the horizon is not where land meets sky, but where eye meets world. And the veil of magic, drifting gently, is not between our world and some hidden fairyland, but our heart and what we suppose to be real.
Recently I spent an afternoon in my neighbourhood sensing castles beyond the small far hills and knights riding through a wide, lonely landscape where it seemed a thousand houses stood but perhaps they didn't, perhaps they were the dream and my lovely wishing was what was real. Perhaps a white and gold pennant flew from a stone tower that overlooked the sea. Perhaps dragons slept amongst dark trees. My heart felt it, never mind what my eyes could see. As I cycled the noisy streets, all I heard was a sunlit wind, and I thought myself alone amongst old country beauty where a magician king quietly ruled. No grimy politicians, no overcrowding, no chainsaws cutting into trees. Just enchantment and peace.
And so I felt enchanted, peaceful. It's strange how we privilege our physical senses and dismiss our dreams as if they don't, sometimes, have more power over us than what we literally experience. This is why I'm grateful for fantasy books, fairy tales, old romances of knight and sword - they are arks for a world beyond the intimate horizon, behind the veil of our hearts.