If you know the story of Mary Poppins you know the children could only understand what birds were saying when very young. Language of birds, an effortless portal open only to those unfettered by yearning to be anything other than what they were. Imagination glistened in dewdrops marking fairy trails. Wonder a tool, not a task. Mine was a world fascination, a realm of fairy reverie. Peter Pan never grew up, Alice disappeared down a rabbit hole, Dorothy traveled to Oz.
Fairies watched as I devoured Greek mythology, named every constellation in the night sky. There were forts to build, tunnels to dig, hollow logs to explore. Trolls and goblins weren’t scary, I knew how to avoid their tricks. Fairies danced for me every evening, I watched with certainty – it was just a matter of time until they invited me for tea.
Not odd in any way, I grew up in a time of wonder. My spark wasn’t plugged in a wall, I didn’t need a new video game, never experienced calamity if unplugged. Content with exploring the world, happily able to understand every word the birds said.
Today my heart breaks for infants plonked in front of “baby TV”. Modern static obliterates hope of talking to birds. Children go digital before their first step – how could they ever join fairies for tea? Instant gratification, flashing lights and computer graphics impersonate wonder. Watch a child howl in frustration, throwing their Playstation controller across the room in fits of rage when they don’t complete a level – ask yourself why Attention Deficit Disorder is epidemic.
I wouldn’t be who I am, had I not searched every tree stump for fairies. Hours spent with an eye to the world created acceptance of endless possibilities. Imagination and wonder create open minds. We’re hammering the door shut without realizing how devastating it is.
The fairies are extremely pissed off.