Sometimes I walk out into the wood, to fill my senses with the beauty of nature. I breathe in the smell of the ancient oak trees as my feet glide on the cool earth. I let my hand run down the nooks and crannies of their forbidden trunks as I climb up to the top and pretend I am queen of the realm of magic. I lay up there for a while, philosophizing with the knowledgeable owls and gnomes. We discuss matters of consequence, like willow trees and laughter and life in general. Sometimes we discuss matters of no importance, as well, such as politics and money and industries.

When I am tired of philosophizing, my feet feel their way back to the dirt. Then I dance with the forest spirits and elves, and laugh with the faeries. We spin around in circles and sing songs about nature's beauty as the sun's rays beam through the trees. We sing true tales that others have forgotten, of goblins and wizards and magic. We lie on the mushrooms and watch the moon rise high in the sky. We continue our everlasting count of the stars. And as the spirits and elves and faeries and gnomes drift off into a fragile sleep, the owls and I lie awake. I smile goodbye to them, and they blink in return. Quietly then, I slip away, back into reality.

People tell me the world I live in is all but a dream. I tell them to open their eyes.