Today my thoughts melt back to days of candyfloss…

Thinking of my parents and holidaying in Cornwall.  I was ten years old again, remembering stories of elves, pixies and fairies.

And the day I met my houseguest,  Sparrow.

It took a while getting to know his name, he didn’t like to be looked at straight on and the side view wasn’t as comfortable. If I dared to look, he would vanish. He stood about two feet tall, and a shiny blue light followed him, almost as though he lived inside a bubble. I always spoke in a low voice but it was years before he spoke to me.

He communicated by writing in the dust around the house. That makes it sound as though I am a filthy so and so, but let me tell you, there is always dust about, no matter how often you try to rid yourself of it.

I left one table in my study undusted, just for him and took photographs each time he left something for me to read. I asked so many questions, not knowing if he could hear me. Why are you here, why are you alone? Do I imagine you here?

He said he belonged to the house, something the estate agent couldn’t tell me about. That he wasn’t alone, he had a family here, but didn’t mind sharing this space I call home.

You see, the space around us isn’t empty, there is always something there.

You have seen it, that little something that flashes by that you cannot quite see, you felt it there, didn’t you?

You shake your head and keep moving, telling yourself it is nothing. Just the light, dancing the wrong way.

Take a closer look, you might have a house guest…

©Anita Dawes