As a child I remember my mother always telling me that that the sound of a bubbling brook flowing underneath a bridge was the sound of fairies singing – it echoed round and out so that we humans could hear that they were happy. (Trolls lived under busy road bridges – I think that was one of my mothers’ way of teaching safety so we didn’t go under them.) I can remember standing for the longest time during a long hot summer in my childhood wondering what had happened to the fairies that used to live under the bridge of the stream that ran through our village, it had all but dried up and there was no fairy singing. I sometimes wonder if my fascination for angels grew out of those early years and tales of fairies, under bridges, at the bottom of the garden, fairy rings under trees – which we had a lot of in our garden – and of course proper fairy lights – cobweb and spider flight threads glistening with early morning dew.
As we grow older the world grabs hold of us and shakes out those childish thoughts and ideas. Some people manage to hold on to them and are often seen as sixpence short of a shilling, but why? What is wrong with holding onto things which make us happy – as long as we still are aware of the real world around us?
I still stand and listen ever time I see a brook and a bridge like when I saw this one – I am not listening for fairies though – I am listening for memories and they in themselves make me happy.