I am sweetly beckoned by blushing blossoms that call me under their verdant canopy with whispers and charms and promises of quiet refuge, taking me by my hand into a gentle dream. A dream or a memory, I do not know which, for I know these feelings, the glow of magic whirling inside me like a breeze, the tales of pollen dusted faeries asleep in flowers that I hold in my mind. The crystal blue tears that shimmer around me alight the comfortable clouds of blooms and leaves, the arms of braches I could fall into and forever rest calmly, immortal branches woven by the sylvan spells of elves in ancient times. I might never let myself be released from this place, existing only in this endless dream, at play with the flowers and faeries in pools of glittering starlight.
