The Unicorn's Kiss

As a follower of mythical marvels, a dreamer who shapes words and a believer in making dreams come true, I have met unicorns.

 

I met them long ago, when I was a girl. A girl that animals followed through the streets, and who talked to the ether, sending out her thoughts in happy, floating imaginings. Who deliberately touched trees as she passed them, and climbed rocky, red soiled, sun-struck hills, barefoot.

 

There was so much to learn about places unseen - hidden places - places where beauty unravelled as naturally as a mountain stream, and where cascading waterfalls would masquerade as galloping horses, vibrating with essences invisible to the mortal eye. Hanging fig trees with grand canopies hid the music-halls of fairies and, in the tumbling sun-slants of thick forest undergrowth, there walked elves and their consorts; stately beings with watchful eyes.

 

I knew something then. I knew that if I closed my eyes and drifted with morning mists, or walked barefoot in streams or on dew; if I held a cricket in my hand and listened to it chirp - all the time with my eyes shut tight - then suddenly, when the moment chose, the world would entangle in a web of perfect silence, and in that moment it would happen. A brush upon my brow or on my bare-skinned arm and the sigh of a gentle breath… the softest, most fleeting gossamer touch would send tingles up my spine. And I knew, I knew for certain, that I had felt the unicorn's kiss.

 

‘What is that?’ you ask, almost believing me. Well, I will tell you this: A unicorn's kiss is the brush of their forelock or mane upon those lucky humans still unsullied by the mortal world - a child of pure heart – and the feel of their breath lingers with the stroke of their silken touch. Yet, in the moment you open your eyes to catch a glimpse, there is only one thing which, captive in your mortal shell, you may or may not hear - the swish of a step as they leave.

 

It's rarer now. Even for the pure of heart, the earth is filled with noise and harsh battering. Fences patch the lands far and wide, and trees and forests dwindle with destruction and harsh hands. The gentle spirits that care for the wild things are fleeing, eradicated by terror from the human smell and touch. But there is a unicorn forest. It is the place where immortality reigns and it can still be shown to us in our frail human lives.

But I cannot tell you where it is... you must find it for yourself. 

Deby Adair

 

From the prose, ‘Unicorn Kisses ' by  Deby Adair - Copyrighted Material. All Rights Reserved.

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