The dryads form flickers over tree bark as a mermaid stretches languidly on the rocks. They’ve been here, everlastingly beautiful, for centuries, centuries upon centuries, yet no one sees them, especially not these days. Days filled with driving and television leave no room for the visions of sprites and fey.

Peter Pan birdcalls across a meadow to his Wendy, a blue jay dreaming of seed in the grass. Something unseen kicks up dry leaves as it runs by, whispered laughter echoing as they settle and the flies go berserk. A pair of granite eyes grinds open.

The forest is awake today.