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Archive for the ‘butterfly’ Category

I closed my eyes and visions formed,

Just like I slumbered in a dream.

The things I saw were all surreal,

It had me drifting so serene.

 

The magic that I thought had gone,

Had somehow found its way again.

The child that had been lost inside,

Within this dream had come to play.

 

In the moon light glow I spied a form,

With silken wings so fine.

It danced upon the golden dunes,

Beside the ocean deep and wide.

 

As quickly as the vision came,

So it had faded into night.

I knew it would come back again,

Another day it would take flight.

 

So I made a wish upon a star,

That glistened in the velvet sky.

A thought I had which came and went,

Within a tear drop in my eye.

 

Now I wait for dreams to be,

For faded hopes to shine once more.

The past is gone the future’s here,

A child waits near life’s open door.

 

 

 

 

Faeries

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The path was familiar, but the terrain seemed unknown. The child’s hands brushed the long purple cat-tail grass, then caught a drifting dandelion head as it bobbed upon the blissful breeze, making a wish before releasing it to dance away towards the sun’s bright rays.

The sweet scene proved but momentary delusion. The jaded adult stared blankly, mocked by words that no longer flowed where gentle streams once meandered through forests towards some iconic tree, embellished with fanciful stories like kite tails caught in branches where only children dared to climb.

When the feathery dandelion dissolved from sight, small feet skipped the pine-needled path to the place where kite tails dangled like mosaic mobiles from ancient branches; small hands traced the textured bark like a puzzle to be solved or a tower to be climbed.

The memory of childhood was rusting and eroding, tarnished by trials too terrible for small minds to comprehend. Some part had passed into dispassionate past, moving almost beyond recall. Thoughts that once danced brightly on air now suspended dimly in dust, threadbare and motionless like a forgotten child’s toy that might never bring joy or bright smiles again.

Hand over hand with bubbling hope, the child searched through leaves for any trace of life or light or laughter, any scraps of words or tails of kites that might unhide themselves in the tell-tale breeze. Then a reconnecting squeal of delight severed the silence. ‘You found me,’ the old man’s voice trembled, washing his tired spirit new like a breeze and a river and a kite taking flight.

‘I never forgot where to look,’ the small, white-haired boy replied. ‘The stars appear and disappear each day, turning days into endless years. Yet still this tree stands where it has always been.’

‘Another year has passed indeed,’ the old man lamented, the twinkle in his eye clouded by the threat of tears. ‘Once more, I am reminded that I am older than the universe itself.’

‘Yes,’ the child replied, ‘But you are as young as the universe too. You are the moon, but I am a star. A moon by itself is not a universe. Nor can a universe be made of a single star. I have climbed here today to show you the galaxy.’

The old man trembled as he received into his ancient hands the small box the child proffered. Actually, it seemed more like a wordless book than a box, and as he opened the cover, a galaxy of tiny paper stars and planets swirled endlessly before his eyes.

‘One day your time will come to join the stars,’ the little boy explained. ‘But until that time, you hold the stars within your hands, inside a book you must learn to read so that you might never forget what it means to be a child, though others might not understand.’

The old man closed the cover, forever protecting the paper stars that the child had cut one by one from coloured paper with tiny hands. And he sighed to know how painstakingly the little boy had glued and glittered each one, so that when light touched them, they would beam like cosmic jewels to remind him of the life he had now and the universe that would some day embrace him. And though he was eternally grateful, he also felt a sadness well inside him, for the child who had found him hidden in the tree was not the one he had most wished to see.

‘It has been so long,’ the old man’s voice trembled, ‘since the laughter of the little girl with pink bows in her hair filled these branches. I am truly afraid she has forgotten how to climb. Once upon a time she used to hang her tiny butterflies from long pieces of glittery string; I would hear her giggle from some distant place when I discovered what she had left for me to find. But now it has been so long, I am sure she has forgotten.’

Then the small child realised that the old man did not understand. ‘She is the one who sent me here! She is the one who cut out each star by hand. She is the one who gave each star its shine and placed each one inside this box for you. It may seem as though she has forgotten everything, but on certain days, her memory is awakened, and the universe that dances inside her smile flows only in the direction of this ancient tree. She knows that today is your special day, and she alone has sent me here with this gift for you.’

And as the old man’s weathered eye released a tired tear of relief, it washed down his cheek, smoothing the ripples that time had etched upon his ancient face. As more tears fell, they washed him clean and new, smudging the furrowed lines and erasing the countless years since childhood was all that he might ever know. Even now as he looked at the hand he lifted to brush the next tear away, he marvelled at how small it was, how totally devoid of any sign that he might be growing older rather than younger.

Opening the book shaped box once more, he drew from beneath the paper stars a tiny planet, made of glass so shiny and pure that it reflected his image back to his eyes so that he knew for certain now that he was indeed only a small, white-haired boy. The old man still sat beside him on the branch, but in the long distant future, gently reminding him to take all the time in the world to be a child, to marvel in the mystery of all that it meant to be so young and small.

And as the sun began to set, the boy sat quietly, his leg dangling over the branch, humming a tune, completely alone. The old man and his box of paper stars had faded into some future time and space. The child breathed the crisp air into his tiny lungs, infused with the strange scent of magical winter leaves that grew only on this tall tree while all other trees bore the barest branches. An early star shot across the dusky sky, and the child closed his eyes to whisper his wish. Today was his special day. He kept his eyes scrunched tightly closed til he was certain he could hear the almost forgotten sounds of another child’s steps skipping with delight in the sparkling starlight.

Wishing the happiest birthday ever to my dear friend, LP – may all your wishes come true today and always – Angelica 🙂 🙂 🙂

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It’s the tinkling bell sound crickets make,

As the sun sets golden on the sand.

The waves that lap upon the shore,

Where paper boats return to land.

 

Where imaginings of the dreaming child,

Are hidden in the words he asks.

In the misty moonlight softly bathed,

He gathers stars within his grasp.

 

To spread upon the earth below,

From the highest branches of the Tree.

Laughing as he gazes out,

At all the wonders that he sees.

 

Within the darkness of the forest fare,

The faeries dance to merry tunes.

Where lamp lights glow with candles bright,

Shadows play from light of moon.

 

Where the magic of some simple words,

Is formed from memories long past.

Written in the ‘Book of Dreams’,

Within the Tree from where they’re cast.

 

Upon a dragonfly is carried,

All his hopes and dreams so true.

Silken wings in moonlight glow,

Starlight on the diamond dew.

 

Within the sky an ethereal glow,

Stretches far as eyes can see.

Spread amongst the stars that shine,

Like children smiling down on me.

 

Quietly I sit once more,

Where shadows stretch across the ground.

Senses charged in ready wait,

Listening for that all familiar sound.

 

Echoed laughter fills the air,

Reminding of what used to be.

Will the old man ever find the child,

With time I’m sure that I will see.

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The little girl climbed the tree rather tentatively as it had been a long while since her small hands had clasped the rough branches. She was not truly frightened, but some days she wondered whether she had somehow forgotten the strength and agility needed to ascend to the lofty heights of the familiar branch which had borne her weight so many times in the past. After such a long absence, everything seemed so strange and familiar at the same time, and that in itself seemed very strange.

The boy was not here, but everywhere there was evidence that he had never been far away. Glittery blue dragonflies dangled from odd lengths of string, not just from one branch but in fact from them all. She smiled then giggled as she brushed past them; how her imagination set them free from their strings and sent them into frantic, blissful hovers, each wing moving in a different direction to achieve their magically perfect stillness, like falcons riding the rolling wisps of wind, suspended from distant clouds.

Yes, the tree was full of dragonflies, their gossamer wings glistening in the tranquil sunny haze. It took some time to spot any butterflies at all, and when she finally found them, they were somehow dull and faded and tattered from neglect. They looked like lost whispers, like tired, grubby napkins. Like a child’s toy – once cherished, now almost forgotten. Yet somehow the small child’s presence in the tree filtered soft rainbow prisms of light onto their tired paper wings, spinning ever so softly so that one might think they might almost twirl back to life. She took a breath, and exhaled slowly, savouring the air, the light and life itself.

The next time the young boy climbed, the magical breeze blew against his skin like a whispered secret. He brushed past many twigs that scratched his arms and legs as he searched for what he knew he would find. He darted between the dragonflies he had suspended from every hopeful branch. He scanned for shimmers of colour amongst the myriad of worn butterflies, but everything was old and nothing was new. Disappointed as he had been so many times in the past, he lowered his back against the tall trunk, one foot upon the branch, the other barefooted leg dangling like lost hope.

Idly, his fingers played along the rough bark of the branch that held him. The tree that once had been so young and vibrant had now grown to ancient wisdom; every furrow of bark was familiar. The next moment, something felt strange to his touch, small and soft, somewhere between the feel of bark and leaves. Careful not to dislodge the tiny unseen mystery, he bent down carefully to see whatever secret his branch now held. The magical breeze blew again, and with great care the wide-eyed boy made his way back down to the earth’s thick carpet of leaves.

Though excitement flickered through his thoughts like a ripple, he knew he would need to be more patient than he had ever been before. It might be a very long time before the chrysalis would transform, but when it finally did, the stained glass mosaic of butterfly wings would bring a new flush of colour and renewal to the tree’s ancient branches. He had already waited a very long time. And now as he looked back over his shoulder to the silhouette of the tree in the fading sunlight, he knew he could wait just a little longer, and maybe even forever, for a new butterfly to emerge.

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The ocean sound so wild as it crashes on the pebbled shore,

White foam forming on the beach as the waves come in once more.

Dark clouds drifting overhead to hide the deep blue sky,

As I stand and stare in awe at a single seabird drifting by.

 

At times I think of many things the thoughts of days long past,

Searching for the hopes and dreams from wishes I have cast.

Then there are the paper boats that sail horizons far,

Carried deep into the night searching for that guiding star.

 

I listen for the laughter that once filled the valley green,

Echoed from the deepest branches of the friendship tree.

Now as I walk quietly, fingers stretched to brush the daisies pink,

I hear the whispers on the wind that carry words to make me think.

 

Now the leaves they shimmer in the subtle starlight glow,

My imagination running wild of thoughts of all the things I know.

As I sit alone within the branches mobiles spinning wild and free,

An apparition comes and goes reminding me of what used to be.

 

So all I ask is if you find the time to come and climb,

You know there is a place to rest amongst the dragonflies.

Where butterflies all flutter hanging from the finest silken thread,

Words released into the night as they spin so slowly overhead.

 

I am a little white haired boy who spreads his magic now and then,

And you are just a little girl that I have called my friend.

One day soon we’ll climb the tree and sit there for a while,

Sharing stories that we know and giving just a simple smile.

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Like a candle in the breeze he flickered and faded before coming to life once more, and as his thoughts came and went,  he felt like he was a drowning child trying to keep his head above the water’s surface, grasping into thin air with his outstretched hands, waiting and hoping that someone would finally come and save him. His tiny body lay submerged, holding onto his last breath for what seemed like forever as he fought to stay alive, but then was it really him or the Tree that now wavered?
 
The visions had come and gone and the small boy stood with his eyes tightly closed as he ran his hands across the rough tan and grey bark that was ridged deep with lines like fingerprints which lay embedded in the surface of the broad tree trunk. It stood tall and wide, and in the breeze the leaves rustled like tiny strips of sand paper rubbing together, making a sound like gentle summer rain on a rusty tin roof. It had been a long while since he had taken the time to allow his senses to stir, feel so deeply so that he had became one once more with the Tree, and as he did he felt that something was not quite right. As flecks of bark broke between his tiny fingers, so he remembered that it was only with words, which were air and water, that the Tree could be sustained and of late they had been few and far between. He climbed into the Tree, and standing quietly he looked at how empty it had become, the desolation was almost tragic, with the bedraggled remains of the last of the butterflies and dragonflies, hanging like glistening raindrops on string. As he wondered he struggled to comprehend it all, at the same time digging deep into himself to find where it was he went wrong. He gazed at the ‘Book Of Dreams’ with its cobweb laden cover, and he brushed it clean, giving a final puff of breath to blow the last of the dust away that had fallen upon it. He sat down and reflected on the past and the wishes that had been cast, and he wondered to himself, ‘if only I had made a wish for me, what would it be?’ He had known no other way than to look at what others needed, it was something that he believed was his responsibility, as if wearing his magical blue coat had come with some ingrained proviso, and then he did get something, it was the smiles that were more precious than the stars. 
 
As he thought, a vision formed upon the branch where his friend would usually sit, an apparition of a young girl with her hair tied in pink bows, smiling widely across at him. Of all the times and all the mysteries that had materialised before his deep, ever wondering bright blue eyes, he had never imagined that he would find himself faced with this vision that now sat before him. The butterflies and dragonflies took shape once more and they spun in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves of the Tree, the breeze that brushed against them made them hum like the fast beating wings of a tiny bird. The air became a whir and the small girl reached out as if to grasp at the delicate glittering objects as they spun wildly, and then in a moment she vanished once more as though she had never been there at all. The mobiles began to slow down and as they dangled in the soft dusk glow, their colours reflected across his face and filled his mind with the many memories of the words that they contained, the many words that could now be found in the ‘Book Of Dreams’. With his long blue coat wrapped tightly around his body, he climbed down from the Tree and there standing with his feet firmly planted, he looked towards the wheat field searching for any sign of the bright bushy tail of the little fox that he had come to know and tame some time ago. He cut a path through the tall grasses, running his finger tips across the coarse husks as they brushed on by his long slender legs, and as he searched he listened for the tell tale sound of laughter he remembered from long ago. 
 
He paused for a moment, and as he did he heard a sound, a soft whimper drifting on the breeze from nearby. He followed the sound, returning to the path and as he stepped upon the rough pebbled surface he looked along it and there, not far away he found the little fox looking tired and worn. He approached carefully so as not to alarm it, then he knelt beside the fox and as he did so it looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. He could tell that like the vision of his friend before, it too had begun to fade, and that the life had begun to subside from its being. The small boy sat close, and in the fading light the deep blue of the daytime sky gradually transformed into a soft silken blue, before the pink and orange tones began to slide across it, reaching out to the darkness in the distance and pulling forth nights veil with the colours receding once more below the horizon. As the daylight faded, it was as though a million eyes were opening one by one from their slumber and looking down upon him. The stars shimmered like tiny tears that the night wept, like a handful of diamonds, but more precious than the much sought after stones. He stared at the distant southern horizon and admired the slow dance of the infinite stars as they drifted into view and then  disappeared once more, rising and falling as quickly as they came. 
 
It was mesmerisingly beautiful, capturing his gaze like a child holds fast to the vision of the dragonfly that sits quietly within his upturned palm, glistening wings reflecting rainbow magic in the sunlight. The sounds of the the forest added to the mystique in the night and as the boy and the fox sat quietly, the heady aroma of the perfume laden night air drifted and filled their senses. The little fox lay its head upon the soft bed of flattened grass and closed its eyes, with the small boy watching over it whilst he listened to the all the sweet sounds he had come to know and thought of days gone past. He had never expected they would meet again, and a story from long ago reminded him that sometimes friends come and go yet he had held onto hope as he so often did that it would be once more. He closed his eyes and upon the breeze he was carried away like a dream into the darkest places of the mind. Here anything was possible, almost anything could come true, and nothing really mattered, because with the dawns light it would all fade and the realities of life would grasp hold of his fragile body as if it were being tossed upon the stormy ocean and dump him into what ever realm it had chosen.
 
In his mind he was a prince. Not a normal prince, but one whom spent his time in search of the mysteries that filled his days with wonder, like the glittering of water drops that hung, suspended from the tiny leaves of a forest tree, reflecting the image of anyone that should choose to stop and admire. As they shimmered in the breeze, the images that could be seen danced like they were captured in time for any that chose to look. There was a chill in the air and the night winds howled through the trees like the call of a lone wolf in the deepest darkest reaches of the forest searching in vain for something lost long ago, and the chill it brought was like death as it threatened to wrap him in its cold embrace. He remembered many a frosty morning when the small boy would come across the frozen dragonfly, clinging to the last bit of life as it lay motionless upon a blade of grass, covered in tiny flecks of ice, almost like snow flakes. The fox remained beside him all this time, fast asleep and oblivious to the small boys wonderings, with a tiny twitch every now and again as it dreamed about something that only it could know. The small boy reached deep into the pocket of his jacket and with his fumbling fingers he removed a small handful of magic and sprinkled it upon the fox, making a wish for good health and fortune to return. As the small boy wiped the strands of white hair from his eyes, he thought about the magic of the Tree and how it was far greater than could ever be perceived by a small child. How it could reach deep into the mind and extract most every thought that ever existed there, at the same time carefully wrapping them in the finest silken cloak protecting them from those that may wish to shatter them like broken dreams, scattered in pieces on the ocean of life and lost forevermore.
 
The darkness in the sky began to fade once more, and one by one the stars disappeared for another day, giggling as they went. The mother sun was rising to put her children to bed, and as the small boy stared into the bright orange orb, his face was bathed in its soothing light with the wispy clouds that filled the sky dancing off into the distance. There was a chill in the air, but a warmth filled him, sending a little shiver through his body as it absorbed the first rays of the morning light that radiated as the new day had begun. The warmth bathed the little fox and as she woke she gave a smile, then climbed to her feet before the small boy giggled and turned once more to look at the Tree, now silhouetted before him. As the clouds shifted shape, awash in the warming tones, it was like a dream turning to reality before his eyes. He thought about the past and how it was intertwined into the future, and now the hope for what the future may hold once more with a wish come true for him. Stirred by a familiar sound he turned his gaze from the tree and the fox was gone, yet in the distance a whispering voice came echoing to him upon the breeze, “I shall return my friend, I shall return.” Her laughter could be heard echoing through the forest, and he laughed back, smiling widely.
 
Today there were no paper boats, and no wishes upon stars, just a small boy and the Tree, contented with what he knew life had to offer, never fearful of what the darkness brings because sometimes it is what we wish for. After all are not some of the best things in life born from our wildest dreams.
 

 

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The deep blue sky stretched as far as his eyes could see to where the orange glow of the sun teased itself above the water, as if tipping a toe into the blue green ocean which lay so calm and cool beneath it. The gentle breeze carried the smell of the rotting seaweed that had been washed up on the sand during the last violent storm that had ravaged this fragile coastline. It was spread like a carpet along the beach into the distance with the glittering of shiny shells intermingled amongst it, although to him it looked more like a sequinned scarf than a carpet, or so he thought as his imagination began to take hold. He listened to the lapping of the small waves as they rolled into the shore and over the rocks, making a tapping sound as the pebbles rocked back and forth against one another. The squawking calls of the silver gulls carried in the air, with a sharp shrill fading as they flew into the distant reaches of the beach towards the derelict light house that stood high on the prominent cliff-top which jutted out like a finger pointing towards some distant object far out to sea.

“Hello,” a voice called from behind the salt bush covered sand dunes as if it were hoping someone would answer in return. The strands of grass were clumped like a hundred porcupines spread out across the land, and as her pony tales and pink bows bounced into view, he smiled and then gave an apprehensive wave. It had been a while since she had shown herself, having spent many an hour sitting calmly in the ivory tower where she had finally found some semblance of balance between the different lives that she had chosen to lead. “What ya doing?” She squealed as she caught sight of her friend the white haired boy. His eyes reflected the sun and at the same time they glistened like the stars in the night sky, and she wondered now that she had found him once more what it would be that the days would bring, because she always found wonder in the words that he often shared, and it had been a while since she had taken the time to listen and truly reflect on them. He thought for a brief moment then explained, “I’m just admiring the beauty of this place,” as he turned himself towards the ocean once more. She smiled and then told him, “I came here yesterday and I found a paper boat washed up on the shore.” He smiled and turned to look at her once more and without asking she continued. “I liked the words very much because they were special in their own way.”

There had been many paper boats set to sail, each one with a purpose, each one searching for the answers to the many questions the enquiring mind of a child seeks. He turned, taking a few steps, and with a wave of his tiny hand he called to her, “follow me and we will have an adventure.” He began to run and she darted after him, together their tiny legs carrying them as fast as they could along the top of the undulating sand dunes, weaving through the prickly sea grass tufts that stung their legs as they flicked against them. She giggled as she chased him, and he laughed in return, because it was so much fun and it was like they had not been on an adventure together ever. “Woooo hoooo,” he shouted as he leapt through the air, landing on his bottom and sliding down the steep slope of the dune like it was a water fall that fell onto the soft beach below. “Yeeee haaaaw she cried as she followed, rolling and tumbling with a consummate, but at the same time, awkward ease down the embankment, landing flat on her face. She broke out into a riotous laughter as she rolled onto her back, picking herself up and dusting off the fine sand from her pink overalls. There, before her stood her friend with his hands on his hips like Peter Pan of the faerie tale stories she had read. He shook his head and then smiled before pointing to the crumbling tower, with its grey wind and rain weathered stone walls.

They stared at it for a while as it was bathed in the pink glow of the sunset, which made it look less foreboding than maybe it could do and she marvelled at how it was similar to the ivory tower in which she spent many of her days. He nodded his head in the direction of the old lighthouse and they trudged on, beginning the arduous final climb over the tumbled ragged rocks that surrounded it, making sure that each measured step was carefully taken. They stood at its base and looked skyward marvelling at how it seemed to reach forever into the sky. They walked around the light house running their hands across the surface of the smooth grey stones, circling it until they came upon a slightly ajar old wooden door. The white haired boy brushed away the silken cobwebs that hung around it and he pushed his hands against the door which held fast. The small girl joined him and together they pushed as hard as they could and the rusted door opened, with its hinges letting out a high pitched creaking sound like that from some old horror movie. It was rather dark and dusty inside, with the only light being that which reflected through the broken glass windows at the top of the wrought iron stairs that wound its way around the wall to the very top. “Can we go up?” she whispered as if afraid to wake some long forgotten soul. He nodded and she lead the way with each step taken sending a small puff of dust spiralling into the air, with the tip, tap, plop of footsteps echoing in the air. It was cold and dank, and in the air a damp musty smell signalled that no one had been there for a long while which made sense with all the scattered note paper that littered the floor.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, catching her breath as she reached the top of the stairs with the warmth of the sun’s rays painting her face with light. Here the breeze blew stronger as it whistled through the panes of broken glass, tossing their hair as they stood in awe of the view. Out to sea they could just make out the Island of Lost Children, silhouetted by the sun and shrouded in an erie mist that drifted all around it. As they walked around the walkway at the top of the tower, they could see far past the flower filled valley and onto the Friendship Tree, with the barren desert that stretched on for miles past it fading in the distance. The small girl stood soaking up the life giving sunlight that she needed, so that she would grow strong, whilst the white haired boy thought of the many words that would paint this picture if he was ever to re-tell the tale. They looked at the silvery light dancing on the ripples of the ocean, and as they did a dark shadow, then a second one became visible just below its surface moving effortlessly. With a woosh and a puff of misty air a whale broke the surface followed by a smaller calf. They rolled and played together putting on a show for a long while as the two friends watched on in awe. Their majesty was inspiring and the gracefulness was like nothing they had ever seen, and in a final display, they leapt from the water, landing with a splash before they swam into the distance.

They had marvelled at the life of another creature in a show that if you did not know better, could have been put on just for them, and as the last of the sun slowly fell below the horizon and the light began to fade, the small boy beckoned his friend to leave. “Come, we must go because I still have something special to show you.” As they left the lighthouse they gave it one last look, and for a moment he thought he heard a whisper, “come back soon,” it said, but then that could just be his vivid imagination along with the wind as it whistled through the structure. They climbed the sand dune with its soft sand running like trickling water behind them as they pulled their way up to the top and walked the well worn path leading into the distance.

They ambled along the path in the fading light and talked about many things, and she kept hinting at the surprise he had promised to share with her, but he remained quiet because he knew when the time was right she would receive it. The sounds of the Magic Forest echoed to where they walked as they wound their way from the sand dunes through the field of pink daisies. They paused along the path and looked as a soft glow radiated from the canopy of trees in the twilight and she closed her eyes so that her senses could carry her back to the memories of long ago. The flickering faerie lights, the hypnotic music with its swaying rhythm, and the sounds of laughter that she had not heard for so long. All of these things and more could carry her away into a dream, the place where the reality of life lay intertwined with her imaginations. There, now, she felt the words forming in her mind and she was stirred by the presence of her magical friend, so much so that she began to see the words as they drifted, forming sentences that told of a friendship and a tree and all of the wonders she had come to know. This was more than an adventure it was the journey of a dream, it was all the wonders of the world unfolding like the wings of a butterfly as it came to brilliant life, transformed from a humble caterpillar.

They continued on their journey through the forest with firefly lanterns lighting the way, and the sounds of song and laughter to celebrate her return to this special place, and no one even questioned why it was she had been away, they were just happy that she was back. As they walked along side the cool stream, the life giving water reverberated with a soothing sound as it ran across the pebbles that lined it. She cupped her hands and drew a sip of its crystal clear liquid, giving a look of absolute pleasure as she did so, wiping the tiny droplets from her chin with her sleeve. There was so much she missed about this place, so many things she had learnt along the way, and it had become clear that until now there was much which had slipped from her memory. They walked from the forest and stood beneath the mystical canopy of the black velvet sky, filled with tiny stars, all twinkling like diamonds or distant candlelights. Looking hard they could make out the soft colours that were smudged within the deepest reaches of space, and the shapes that the stars formed when joined together. It was here on the path that he sat down and asked her to do the same, as she did he asked, “did you remember that I am magic?” She hesitated for a moment and replied, “I think so.” He smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket and he produced a tiny brightly coloured caterpillar at which she became very excited, and then he asked her to close her eyes and hold out her hands. He placed it in the upturned palms of her outstretched hands, then wrapped them around his gift, asking her to think happy thoughts and make a wish. As she did, so she felt a little tickle against her skin, and as she opened her hands, holding her palms skyward, there lay a pink butterfly with its paper crepe wings beating ever so softly.

“This is the magic of your transformation my friend, it signifies that life becomes life, and that change is sometimes inevitable, no matter what was in the past.” For a moment a sad look fell upon her face, and he knew what she was thinking, so before she could say a word, he explained. “Butterflies are usually ephemeral, but this one is special. It will grow strong as you grow strong and just like you, it will never grow old.” This put a smile on her face, and then in a moment the butterfly flapped its wings and took flight into the darkness, showing no fear of what lay ahead. She watched as it flitted away, with its wings sparkling like glitter in the starlight, disappearing into the vast sky above. She smiled and she wondered, but then life was full of wonder and somethings would only ever be revealed over time as the journey we take unfolded before us like the pages of an unread book. On the distant horizon, the moon began to rise and the light from it radiated soft and white, bathing the land eerily with shadows and silhouettes. The Friendship Tree stood tall and in the light it came to life as the gentle glow  wrapped around the trunk an bounced off the leaves that flickered in the breeze.

It had been a while since the small girl had tried to climb the Tree and find the essence of the child, allowing her to see beyond the reality of life, into the imaginative and dreamy world that had so often given her a quiet solitude. She had also missed the stories that her magical friend had so often weaved, with either words of wisdom or pure fantasy. After so long away from the Tree, the time had come to make a choice, take a chance and rekindle the many memories that lay hidden in the depths of her mind. As the boy stood, his shadow fell long across the land seemed to sway in the breeze blown tall grass. He climbed the tree and before long she pulled her way onto the branch and sat quietly, staring at the butterflies and dragonflies that he had meticulously cared for in her absence. She pointed to the Book of Dreams and asked, “Tell me a story please,” to which he welcomely obliged, opening the book to where it all began, hoping that she would remember once again. The truth is that even though she may not remember every moment in time, she would not forget that they were true friends. So now the journey would begin once more, with the old mesmerisingly melded with the new and the thoughts of two children once again shared with all those that chose to read them.

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