I don’t believe in fairies. Of course, I don’t. They show up only in children’s stories of years ago, those magical little folk who can zip through the air, who appear and disappear at will. And yet, when I wandered through the yard yesterday, I noticed the loveliest mushrooms that had appeared out of nowhere with the recent rains. And, I wondered just what, exactly, goes on in my yard at night when the moon is full and oak shadows lie across the grass? When the night owl hoots softly from his hiding place and a soft breeze whispers secrets to the leaves, what else happens when we humans are safely asleep indoors?
No one knows, of course, because no one sees. That’s the beauty of being imaginary. When imagination soars, unfettered, it is likely to land most anywhere. The mushrooms become the umbrellas or the stools of small creatures, lovely creatures that can disappear in a puff of wind, who grant wishes and bestow sweet dreams upon untroubled sleepers.
Are they real? No, of course not. But, the mushrooms are. And, they are beautiful and they did appear overnight, springing up from the ground like exquisite surprises. So, I admire them and smile, and wonder–just what, exactly, happens when the moon sails overhead and the leaves shiver with the mysteries told them by the breezes? One can only imagine.
Manos Mysteries
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