The Travelling Fairy DancerThe Green Fairy
March 2nd 2008 00:09
I did see a fairy once, or even twice maybe.
And I had been drinking absinthe at the time.
The Isle of Skye, Scotland, is a remarkably harsh, hauntingly beautiful place...full of fairies. You do need to ask the locals about The Fairy Glen. You can drive there, through green
mountains decorated with thin, streaming waterfalls.
You know you've found it when, quite suddenly, the mountains turn into small hills that close gently around the road. The green of the grass and the trees becomes almost fluorescent under the dull, cloudy light and tiny stools formed from mushrooms poke out among fragile, purple flowers.
Speaking in hushed tones, leaving our newly aquired bottle of absinthe in the car, (having established we couldn't stomach the acrid taste for more than one mouthful an hour, even after tipping it into our lemonade. Afterall, we'd only bought it due to its bohemian name and reputation), we tip-toed across the road and into The Fairy Glen.
My friend and I did not speak for over an hour. The silence only broken by the rustling leaves or a sigh from one of us as we sat, engulfed by moss covered, vine dripping splendour, waiting for the little people to emerge and welcome us into fairy land.
The wait was worth it. Go for yourself and see.
And I had been drinking absinthe at the time.
The Isle of Skye, Scotland, is a remarkably harsh, hauntingly beautiful place...full of fairies. You do need to ask the locals about The Fairy Glen. You can drive there, through green
mountains decorated with thin, streaming waterfalls.
You know you've found it when, quite suddenly, the mountains turn into small hills that close gently around the road. The green of the grass and the trees becomes almost fluorescent under the dull, cloudy light and tiny stools formed from mushrooms poke out among fragile, purple flowers.
Speaking in hushed tones, leaving our newly aquired bottle of absinthe in the car, (having established we couldn't stomach the acrid taste for more than one mouthful an hour, even after tipping it into our lemonade. Afterall, we'd only bought it due to its bohemian name and reputation), we tip-toed across the road and into The Fairy Glen.
My friend and I did not speak for over an hour. The silence only broken by the rustling leaves or a sigh from one of us as we sat, engulfed by moss covered, vine dripping splendour, waiting for the little people to emerge and welcome us into fairy land.
The wait was worth it. Go for yourself and see.
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