A pattern, etched delicately in silver on a leaf.

A story, in every footprint, every mark in the bark of a tree.

A grace, flowing through the bones and blood of every living creature.

There is a kind of magic, in the woods.

Is there a dryad by that tree?

Is that a centaur, cantering along the ridge?

I search, ceaselessly search, hoping for the day,

when I will find a fairy, sipping delicately from a flower,

or see a dwarf, carrying his mining tools home.

When will a shy elf, emerge from her hiding place among the trees,

coming, to teach me the ways of the woods.

When, where, will I find a magic potion, that will enable me, to see

beyond this world into the next? I long for the day,

when a dragon will swoop down from the sky, and allow me to ride,

on his proud, majestic back, soaring high into the sky!

Why, am I, the one who is not shown, that other magical world,

what I give, how I would love, for a one way ticket to the land,

where dreams really do come true, and where

magical happenings really do happen.