My kids recently purchased the plaque pictured above and gave it to me on my birthday.

They like to make fun of the fact that I believe completely and deeply in fairies.

In fact, I believe in no other supernatural or venerated beings.

I don’t wear Winnie-the-Pooh sweatshirts, or talk like Betty Boop, and my IQ is (pretty sure) above 100.

I’m about as opinionated, glib, jaded, and sarcastic as any Irish descendant.

But fairies make sense…because I saw a real one on a hot summer night in North Carolina when I was 7 years old.

We were out collecting fireflies, tons of neighborhood kids racing around with rinsed-out mayonnaise jars, holes poked in the lids.

Bazillions of bugs were lighting up the black July sky. My jar was quickly filled to the brim.

But I noticed one lightning bug was bigger than the others, her light a sparkly glowing white, not bright and orangey like the rest.  She was clinging to the side of the glass and banging away like she had to get out.

Quickly I released all the bugs at once. She lingered just above the jar, as if pulling herself together, before flying away in slow soft arcs. 

So this I know is true.

There have to be more fairies out there, living under dark green ferns and billowy mushroom caps.

And they’re counting on us to take care of our miniature planet . . . so they can ride their tiny unicorns across fields of moss and paint rainbows in the sky for light years to come J