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(1980) [Reprinted in "Reality Module No.2" in February 1998.]


Listen to the soft wind blowing through the grass, and wonder...could it be whispering secrets of places deep, dark, mysterious and magical? Perhaps it is not really the sound of the wind, it could be the sounds made by the unseen things of earth, those things which live their lives in secret, and have become so secretive that we can only see them with closed eyes and open minds.

It could be the diminutive footsteps of the little people, going from this world into another secret world. They being insensitive to my presence, because they inhabit the twilight zone of reality and imagination. They are only fractionally real, their secret ways have transported them closer to another reality, an existence which crystallises them into a glass mist horizon.

With eyes half closed I see them. Oblivious to me, they pass me by. Their eyes and minds do not perceive me. Perhaps their folklore dwells on a race of giants.

The images become clearer, I can make out each little form and can hear their merry chatter. They unseeingly pass me by, and a dark mist, a haze, takes them.

I become aware of the sunlight, the wind has dropped, the ground solidifies beneath me. Perhaps I have been the great seer; I have revealed inside me, and beneath the spherical earth, another earth, fossilised in time, where dragons, wizards and other mythologies live out their existence, undisturbed at all, except by our occasional remembrances.


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Copyright © 1980 by Michael F. Green. All rights reserved.


Last Updated: 16 October 2002