Flights of Fancy

When the world is heavy and it gets too loud behind my eyes, I like to escape by taking a flight of fancy.

Maybe I’ll dance with a troupe of marionettes through the streets of Prague.

Climb onto the back of a paper napkin that folds itself into a bird and soars over Paris.

Swim with mermaids gliding through the water in the wake of a ship, waves slicking against bare skin and tangled hair, watching as the people on board mistake our splashing for that of a dolphin – thinking the flash of gold and green scale must have been a trick of the light.

Perch in the branches of a tree to watch the unseen, unnamed creatures who hide behind the leaves in a remote forest – something like a fairy but not, not all glistening wings and floating dress, not those imagined creatures of children’s tales. Instead something wild and wholly of nature. Skin tinged green, a pattern of ivy clinging like a tattoo around neck and down arms. Sharp fingers and teeth, bat-like ears. Fine boned but strong as the ancient tree to which she clings. Not flying but being blown wherever the wind wills.

Eventually, reluctantly, I’ll come back down to earth. Even if the noise is still there, even if the world’s still heavy, at least I know I can escape again – any time I want – on a flight of fancy with wings of my own making.

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