A fence separates my yard & ... the mysterious, strange yard of my neighbors. In morning's re-birthing light when færie is fading, and afternoon is still a fairy tale, my backyard touches theirs -- a fence between us. I stand at the fence looking beyond, under my sassafras and old apple, in my pachysandra, beyond my chain-linked fence, to another fence and yard then another and another ... farther & farther, smaller & smaller, ... beyond sight to the unknown. Beyond: the forsythia is blossoming yellow, the nymph stands frozen in her stony bath, the cherry blossoms fall like snow a deck sits quiet and empty, waiting yard on yard lie quiet house by house stand silent birds chirp and tweet in early morn when fairies have passed. I stand on my side of the fence wondering what paths are there imagining what journeys await, dreaming of the otherworld around the corner. Beyond must lie sidhe and other lands and other creatures. Mine eyes see suburban houses and yards toys awaiting children trimmed trees and gardens yellow, salmon, and purple. But in the margins in between out of the corner of mine eye beyond, under, and over between night and day lies færie. I climb the fence ... (Time stops; length ceases) And I land beyond ... the nymph frolics in her bath showered with crystal water; the apple blossoms fall like fresh white snow; balconies of white marble live with fairy soirees; meadows lush nourish unicorns and griffins; palaces of gold and silver thatched with white bird feathers stand side by side with cottages of white stone and apple blossom thatch; crystal skiffs with silvery fairy children sail the moats; along the windy garden paths, golden fairy women and men stroll and discourse. Beyond stand a silver tree and an earthen tree rooted together entwined, spiraling around each other, stretching beyond the sky ... Their trunks are long and solid, dividing into infinitely many branches. The woody face of the silver tree, locks shiny silver bark, eyes blue, sagely watches and listens To the leafy face of the earthen tree, locks rich brown bark, eyes green, vivaciously talking. The trees embrace, awash in the photon shower. Along the length of their entwined trunks, knotting mountains peak through the clouds and verdant valleys melt into the the silvery earth. Their branches leaf in translucent gold and green, white and pink apple blossoms open to the warming photosphere. On each branch end lies a sidhe, a juncture, dividing into infinitely many pairs of trees 1/2 again, fingers of fog withering around and above; beyond the fog, along each tree-pair, new junctures and sidhes; and tree-pairs beyond the fog, along each tree-pair more junctures and sidhes ... I step upon the embracing trunks, knowing at each sidhe is a choice each new branch a mystery to be discovered. Úgoliel goliel saith the Eldar: Unknowing knowing Knowing mystery is knowing there's more to know is wisdom.
©2000, John A. Mills