I push my way through the branches, green leaves pulling at my skin. 

I am alone in my journey, my mother waiting outside the tree, too tall, too old, too wise, to travel with me to my neighborhood miracle. 

And then I make my way into the clearing, and all air vacates my lungs, being pushed out by the all-encompassing sense of awe. 

Sunbeams peak in through the branches, streaking through my hollow tree cavern so clearly, I can almost reach out my hand and touch them, painting spots of the leaves and the trunk of the tree in a way that makes me feel as if I’m trapped inside the lens of a kaleidoscope. 

And then there are the fairies. Small specks of golden light dancing weightlessly in the sunlight before vanishing into the shade. A strange kind of stillness falls over me, but the still move and twirl and dance. 

It’s almost a shame, that I’m the only witness to this little patch of heaven on earth, the only one to see the flighty fairies glow in the late afternoon sun, against the swirling kaleidoscope background of green and brown and shadows and light. 

At the same time though, I can’t help but feel special. Right in front of me is a miracle born of nature and magic and I’m the only one fate deemed lucky enough to bear witness to it. 

My hand reaches forward, grasping at the sunlight and at the magic and catching nothing. The fairies dodge away, swirling and dodging in their attempts to escape capture. 

Despite my failure, joy bubbles up in my chest, sunset gold euphoria expanding in my chest and rising to fall from my lips in helpless giggles. I spin, the laughter and weightlessness making me feel like one of the glowing fairies darting through the light around me. 

I’m shameless and free and all on my lonesome, left in isolation with only myself, the magic, and the overwhelming joy.