Sylph - W B Baker Mbe - Bog

Flashing through crystalline skies on prism wings of gossamer or madly cantering through autumn's fallen leaves astride their nutmeg-colored mounts of sable voles and ash-colored mice: images of sprite-like fairies with insanely delicate features, bedecked in gauzes of layered green, shimmering with morning's dew. Fairies bequeath themselves as the virtually immortal emissaries of enchanted glens and timeless worlds that twinkle amidst the shattered nonsense of our dreams. Well may that all be true. Quite possible, then every bit as real, may be phantasmal, spectral creatures that glide through the folding fogs of night: an entire world of entities who, long fallen from the morning stars, have twisted their whole existence to thwart the intent of God and pathetic exploits of man. Horrific and terrifying, blackened apparitions lurk at the very edge of short-sighted humanity's periphery with features that curdle both our hearts and our imaginations-soulless, illusory beings that nightly prance and plot amidst a nightmarish existence that lies just outside mankind's perception. Enduring the squalid darkness eternally, they wait patiently, every iota as legitimate as the fleeting, pale, and all too fragile physical reality humanity chooses to acknowledge and inhabit. One would do well to keep in mind that not all fairy tales are purely make-believe.