I’m often asked why I’m a photographer and it is always my first inclination to tell them the truth: I found a magical fairy door as a child and when I dragged my mother over to see it, it was gone. So I carry a camera with me always and practiced snapping other things while I waited for the door to appear again and in consequence, I got pretty good at photography. But I don’t tell people that because then they would look at me the way my mother did then: bewildered, disbelieving, then frustrated.
It had been a small door, maybe the size of my adult hand. Secured in the drywall with a metal plating frame, a sign on the glass front read: Caution–Magical Door. DO NOT TOUCH. My eight-year-old self had looked around the doctor’s waiting room, but other than an old lady wheezing by the door and my mother at the counter chatting with the nurse while checking me in, I was alone.
When I looked back, I wasn’t. A small person peered out at me from the other side of the glass, over large eyes glistening and intent. Dragonfly-like wings slowly rose and fell in the shadows of the hallway she stood in. It was a she, right? I couldn’t tell. It hid almost entirely behind the doorframe, only its head poking out. It blinked at me, then jabbed an itty bitty finger at the sign.
I said, “Or what?”
A lifetime of doubting my sanity, that’s what.
The thing I enjoyed about this one is the voice. I really want to know more about this guy’s life, especially because of that last line. I could do a whole series on how he did get into the door and explored a strange, Wonderland-like fairy world.
Here‘s the pin that inspired it :)