I woke yesterday morning and found all the trees silvered and gleaming with ice against a luminous grey sky. It struck me like a glimpse into the realm of Faërie.
I gazed and marveled and pondered. I think there’s something true about my waking instinct. Where I live, ice storms are unusual. And where I was born and raised, it was a foreign term; I’m not sure I ever encountered one growing up.
To see every tree and bush, every limb and twig limned with translucent silver is magical. It is strange, and beautiful, and rather perilous. And there lies its kinship with the Faërie realm, which can be all those things.
As the morning warmed, pearls of ice dropped from the trees. Then sprays of pearls showered down, and finally the trees shed melting ice in their own rain.
Now our neighborhood is returned to its more earthly form.
I’m left to ponder. The sense that lingers with me is this: what if Faërie is an alternate world, and in rare, near-miraculous moments, what we glimpse is not a view into that world, but rather where that world emerges and merges with our own.
May you enjoy a sojourn into Faërie with a good tale today.