I’ve always had a vivid imagination. I remember spending most of my childhood in imaginary worlds in books and forests. It was my way of protecting myself from harsh realities. I believed in fairies and ghosts and unseen spirits.
I was lonely a lot. We were latchkey kids and spent summers and snow days on our own. I stocked up at the Scholastic Book Fair and libraries. I would spend hours reading and then wander into the forest in our backyard.
I was fascinated with my Celtic heritage and read a lot of fairy tales and folklore.
I found nature itself magical – a healing balm for the soul. At twilight when the lightening bugs came out I imagined they were little fairies.
I was a small kid – not the shortest in the class, but the second or third shortest. I liked the idea of a creature that was small and powerful. They were sort of my superheroes.
Boys liked to imagine they were Batman fighting with strength. I liked to imagine I was a tiny fairy fighting with magic and cleverness.
I always felt sort of out of place in my family. I would read about changelings – human babies stolen by fairies and replaced by fairies and would imagine I was one of those. It was my explanation for why I was so different.
As an adult, I wouldn’t say I believe in fairies as I no longer believe in Santa Claus.
But, as we believe in the spirit of Christmas, I believe in the spirit of fairies.
Nature is magical and healing and mysterious. Who can say what unseen forces are at work?