The Man and the Mist

Each day I travel through a magical vista of fairytales and mystery. It clings to the river and forms a wall of ethereal lace. It hides the trash and the stench that breeds in the water and creates something so far outside of reality that if you were to step inside it I am certain you would find yourself trapped in the fairy realm.

Such flights of fancy are par for the course for me, but to say I was shocked speechless (okay, I’m never speechless, but still) when the father of my children waxed lyrical this morning, would be an understatement.

Small girl aged 5: “Daddy, easily, what is that white stuff?”
Daddy: “It’s the breath of all the fairies and water nymphs.”
Small girl aged 5: “There must be an awful lot of them?”
Daddy: “Oh yes, and dragons too.”

Who knew, lurking under that taciturn, atheist exterior was a fairytale romantic?

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