I inhabit a world that has long since gone from the landscape in society’s busy rush towards an uncertain future. In my soul I amble down country lanes bound by hedgerow, mature trees, and beyond? Farmer’s fields full of swaying grain and flaxseed. Birds flutter up into a clear blue sky to sing their hearts out and declare their love of life, their territory, and offer a moments joy to any passing stranger in the lane.

I inhabit a world of misty fens at the break of day, where worlds merge, past, present, and future. Surreal images haunt the in between, luring the innocent to fairyland to be forever trapped with the fay. Soft tendrils reach out and curl upon the unwary with whispers of things that could be, things that were, and things that are. And somewhere, somewhere just beyond the mist, beyond the land, where the vail thins and shadows take form, are those we’ve lost.

They wave, they smile, and then? Are gone. Gone as quickly as the rising sun burns off morning dew.

Like them I am caught between worlds, living in one but existing in the other. One foot in the present, one foot in the past. With a longing, an ache so old, it tugs at my soul to be there … back there in the land of my childhood. A land of knights, and armour, dragons and faeries, of gnomes and magical lions and hidden doors through the back of the wardrobe to fantastical lands. To boats that sailed the ether, and carpets that flew, to magicians and magic, and spells forever locked in crystal that only the one true heart could unlock.

I have been witness as the magic has slowly bled from the land, receding further and further into the mists of time. Now, who is left to call upon Mab? Who is left to summon the spirit of the land, to call upon Excalibur in a time of need? The last Great Queen has passed through the veil, gone from us.

I weep, I weep for my soul, I weep for the land, I weep for the past. I weep for the future yet to come. For who is left to rise to meet the day? None.

I am the last … I am the last to remember.