TITLE: The War of the Worlds and Fairies
On midsummer’s eve I stood on the central toadstool, gripping the bumpy surface with my toes. The moist air from the humus below clung to my bare skin, the warm mugginess attacking the elaborate curls I had styled for the occasion. One ringlet after another went flat and slid down my neck or cheek, breaking my concentration.
Fairies can cross over at other seasons, but because of the crucial nature of the crossing the most reliable time is chosen—when the boundaries between the two realms are thinnest. And so in Faerie, for the last time, I stood in the midst of a fairy ring.