Have I ever told you that I believe in fairies?
No? Not that I see them flying around, or that I expect to walk in on one taking a rest on my curtain pole. But the idea of fairies. The magical, otherwordly, ethereal feeling of fairies. It’s hard to explain.
My first introduction to the fairy world was one I’ll never forget. My nan had a statue on her windowsill, sometimes she’d turn it to face inward and other times to face outside. I remember once standing in the kitchen, looking up at my nan as she turned the statue and asking “Why do you turn it around?” My nan smiled, she turned to me and said, “to let the fairies know it’s safe to come out”.
A glimmer kindled in my eyes, “Fairies don’t exist!” I proclaimed. My nan responded softly, “yes they do, but they only show themselves to those who believe in them”. I remember thinking to myself how silly my nan was being, but from then on I checked to see which way the statue was turned. Was it safe for the fairies today?