There is a book where my mind wanders
Deep in forests and high on mountain trails;
I can soar on a winged horse
And swim on a turtle’s back;
Adventures beckon and innocence reigns;
Free to wonder, free to live in dreams,
Where I can speak to animals
And fly with fairy wings.
I wrote this little poem to celebrate one of my earliest memories. I was about three and I’d begged my mother to make me a pair of fairy wings. We didn’t have those sparkly sheer mesh wings you can buy nowadays. She cut out the sides of a cereal box and I coloured in the shapes. When the elastic was fitted over my shoulders, I felt amazing and couldn’t wait to fly. I remember hopping up and down on our path by the line of red tulips. The wings flapped, but I didn’t lift off for more than a second. So I jumped higher. When I couldn’t even hover, I was inconsolable. I still believed in fairies for a little while, but they had lost their glitter.