One story that I heard a long time ago; where the book had a wonderful calligraphic ‘The End’ to the story; everything made sense and seemed so right. The correct shade of pink and the princess was permanently embedded in a picture that seemed eternal. A sigh, and then the hard-cover was flapped back to start a new chapter, a new story of what a fairy tale meant to me. In the unlimited dreams of my imagination; my own perhaps, with my own fairies and dwarfs and benevolent kings.
However, like she says here, it is all make believe, in a way. But then, none of us ever paid attention to ‘make believe’; it is an oxymoron of sorts, isn’t it? Make, believe. You could almost read it as – if you believe, make it happen.
We look back on the life that we have lived, and it is all a fairy tale of sorts. The pain – the imprisonment, the rescue (even if you are a male, to be politically correct), the happily ever after – and that is the clincher! From whence?
Seems a fairy tale of our times is an open book with a few blank pages. Seems, that a princess, when she writes it all will be an old queen; in our times; writing the complete fairy tale – not so much a bed time story that ends with a calligraphic flourish, but tells us more of what we could do with a life that exists – and the potential of what we could make of it.
Now can you see the silhouttes of ranchers’ hats
and sticks raised against the pink desert sky?
~ Night Sand, Billy Collins