When I was very small, the world was too loud for me.
The world never got quieter, but I learned to pull inside myself and see the things inside my head when the outside was too much for me to handle.
Behind our house, behind the orchard, was the forest.
It did not take many steps to enter an entirely different world.
Grass turned to moss.
Garish sunlight turned to rich, filtered beams.
Five minutes for a small girl and one for an adult brought me to the marketplace.
There was a stump, you see.
I knew that one day, if I lay very quiet on the moss, I would catch the small people entering into one of that stump’s many cracks on their way to the magical market.
I never found that entrance.
The joy of writing is that I have been able to create my own.
I can close my eyes and see the things inside my head.
The small people turning to me and beckoning me on into the market of rotting wood and fading moss.
Magic in its truest form.
There are so many entrances that we can all find our way inside
This week is dedicated to everyday magic. I will be sharing some of the real-life inspiration for the strange things that appear in the pages of my stories.
If you would like to see some less-metaphorical magic, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.
Cat Amesbury 