tales for dreamers: the little door and the pixie who lives behind it

They say a little pixie lives in the tiny house at the base of the largest magnolia tree in the village.

No one has seen her though, so you could argue the house belongs to a pixie or an elf or a dwarf or even to you, and you wouldn’t be wrong.

But someone does live there, they say.

A little someone who keeps the fire roaring in the little fireplace in her little home so that weary passersby on a black night are guided by the light, and the homeless and the abandoned can huddle around her tree for warmth.

A little someone who climbs up to the highest points of the tree before the break of dawn and quietly jiggles the branches, so when the village begins to stir and people look out their windows towards the new day, they see lush carpets of delicate pink flowers on their streets and smile to themselves, thinking what a beautiful world we all live in.

If she likes you, she will sometimes rustle the leaves and shower you with flowers as you walk under her tree.

A little someone who leaves cute little things in the hollow of her tree for inquisitive children to find.

Sometimes the good children leave behind little things for their invisible friend too – a marble of the colour of the deepest oceans and the bluest skies, a spinning top that goes round and round the magnolia tree until you command it to stop, sometimes a balloon that the pixie could hold on to and fly away over the treetops into the mountains beyond – magic-ky little things that she loves.

Some of the kids say they have visited the pixie at her home (and yes, she is a pixie, not an elf nor a dwarf, they say).
We call their bluff and say they are just too big to wriggle through the little door.
They say they nibble on the mushrooms that grow outside her door, and they shrink enough to be able to enter.
And – they add before we can contest – on the way out, they nibble on another mushroom and grow back to their full size.

Well, children have such active imaginations we simply cannot fault them for spinning such lovely tales. So when they pluck a mushroom from her doorstep and hand it out to us, we thank them and politely take a few bites.

Of course, there are no such things as pixies and magic mushrooms in real life, we tell ourselves. But I secretly hope we turn out to be wrong.