At times, I feel like the faerie in the picture above. My wings are tired from flying. My soul weary, my spirit ebbing away and I feel naked and pained. I want a resting place, even if it meant perching on top of a toadstool. The resting place is not as important as the act of resting itself.
Then there are times I feel spirited, my wings spread to take on the world. I can soar above all heights. I feel the winds beneath my wings and the moonlight on my back, lifting me higher and taking me further and further away from everything that is holding me back.
Faeries usually hang out in the woods, far away from the sight of men. Which is not a surprise, considering how we corrupt the world.
I felt cold, but the moon showered warmth tenderly over me. I was alone, but I wasn't lonely. I was trying to heal, but the wounds no longer hurt. I almost wish I could live my life again, but i have no regrets.
And like the faerie, I am hiding in the enchanting woods right now, basking in sweet solitude - and waiting to hear the songs of the trees.