Spying On Faeries
While they do their snazzy dance
I sit quietly, holding my breath, enraptured.
Marveling at their poise and their daintiness.
The forest is quiet, the slow pop of the embers the only sound.
It would be a great night to hear an owl.
The queen senses someone is about.
I am a secret watcher, uninvited to this campfire dance.
I hold my breath, and remain hidden behind a felled giant oak.
The queen has stopped dancing.
Her opalescent wings show themselves.
I take off on a run, listening to my footsteps
Crunching against dried leaves on the forest floor.
Pursued by a faerie.
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