Morgan Megan was a wee faerie with golden red hair and a fair and slender body. Faeries come in all sizes, ye know. Some are big as giants. Others are the size of People, like us. Some are smaller, like dwarfs or gnomes. And then there are the dear, wee faeries – the kindliest, I am told, who flit and flutter through the trees and flowers. Morgan Megan was one of these and one of the loveliest, I might add.
Although Morgan Megan’s body was young as Spring in the Faerie World, Morgan Megan was actually hundreds of years old in our world! Faeries, according to Morgan Megan, are borne of a mother, just as ye and I are. As a baby faerie, Morgan Megan looked much like the cherubs that ye see in pictures of old, although she was of finer build and nobler features. As she grew, she was an idyllic beauty at every age. When her body matured into its fertile time, she developed no further, and Morgan Megan remained in her first glory even to the day I heard of her in the far wood.
But, ye say, I’ve seen pictures of faeries who look old, just as people look old, with gray hair, wrinkles, and sagging cheeks. And I can attest to the same! But those faeries reflect in their faces, the scuffles and skirmishes of the Faerie World. Ye may have thought that life in the Faerie World is easy and light-hearted, but that is not so. The cares and concerns of faeries can be weighty as well.
Now, I was telling ye about Morgan Megan and how she was very young in body, but very old in time. When Morgan Megan’s body stopped matured, her spirit continued to grow in curiosity and understanding. She first began to gather all the old faerie tales. She not only learned to recite them, but she divined through them the wisdom of the faeries and the Faerie World. Then, she discovered our world, yours and mine, and how our people live and die too soon. To Morgan Megan, the world of people that you and I inhabit was an exotic mystery when perceived and studied from the faeries’ point of view. Strange indeed were the things she witnessed and the meanings she discovered attached to our existence.
The faeries’ world, as ye know, lies in a dimension of whimsy and magic. All there is possible and nothing is probable. Faeries float in a space outside of time, and they take their pleasures from the beauty of the ferns and the flowers, the symphonies of songs, and the simplicity of a dew washed morning. In our world, Morgan Megan discovered the rushing passage of time, the revenge of Nature thwarted, and the tears of remorse and abandoned love. Just as the barn is so different from the wood, Morgan Megan discovered another province of Nature where the laws and constraints can be harsh and often cruel. Ye see, the world we accept as just and right seemed altogether wrong to a faerie.
Morgan Megan was not a faerie princess, nor a faerie queen. She was, like ye and me, a faerie of ordinary birth, who grew to be extraordinary in the Faerie World – extraordinary because she knew the wisdom of the faeries and the worries of our world.
Now I shall tell you one of many stories concerning Morgan Megan and her adventures in our world, the world of people. The story I will tell is about a forest encounter she had with Ger, a very uncommon, common person – like ye and me.
The story starts in the rising mist of a forest meadow just as the sun peaked over the drowsy evergreen trees. Ger was passing through the forest on his way to a friend’s pasture to see a cow. By trade, Ger was a blacksmith. His greatest talent, however, was his ability to commune with the animals of the forest and field. Some people said of Ger that he was a blacksmith whom the animals adored and their masters accursed. Because, ye see, Ger was the gentlest blacksmith had ever been known in his county. Ger’s habit when shoeing a horse, for instance, was to first talk to the animal, give its coat a bit of a brush, pull a parsnip or a sugar plug out of his pocket, and breath a sigh of pleasure as the horse abducted the morsel from his outstretched hand with its large and velvety lips. Ger watched as the creature crunched with its lower jaw swinging from side to side in pleasure until the gift was consumed. Then, Ger would stand near and allow the horse to investigate each pocket and fold in his trousers and jacket, until each tasty bit had been retrieved and consumed.
As ye can see, a man with five horses might wait all morning for his animals to get new shoes! By the time Ger had finished his job, the sun might be dipping to the other horizon and the horses shuffling lazily to their evening fodder. “A man has only so many days to plow his field,” exclaimed the farmers, but they continued to call on Ger to shoe their mares. Ger was not only the best blacksmith in their county, he was the only blacksmith for miles around.
But on the day I speak of, Ger was not on his way to shoe horses. Ger’s plan was to visit his friend’s cow. Because Ger was gentle and communed with the animals, his business extended to that of nursing sick animals and healing their wounds. In fact, the cow I speak of had become sick in her udders. Her milk had given over to pus and goo, which drained from the poor cow’s swollen sack. According to his friend, the cow had taken to lowing day and night, and he feared she would not last the week.
As it happened, Ger was lightly stepping through the forest contributing to the morning jubilation of Nature’s songsters by whistling a merry jig of his own making. As he emerged from the thicket into a tiny clearing, he spied Morgan Megan sleeping soundly in a bed of mushrooms. At that same moment, a beam of sunshine burned through the mist and enveloped her in light. As I told ye earlier, Morgan Megan was a faerie of great beauty. The sun brushed her peaceful face and sunbeams bounced off her golden red hair.
Ger paused in awe. Although lovely in her sleep, she was indeed a faerie, and he became filled with fright. Why? Because faeries can be tricksters and they rarely are found sleeping by uncommon, common folk like Ger.