There never was a cockier boy. And yet, his cockiness
was one of his most fascinating qualities. Something about him- how
he would look at you only for an instant while you spoke to him, or
how he always seemed rather distracted while in your company- things
that would normally make you upset only drew you in deeper. I
silently admired the boy. His spirit and enthusiasm- I noted that he
had a special spark about him when something interested him.
The boy was indeed quite special, and he certainly knew
that of himself. But it caused the rest of us to grow only more intrigued by this Peter Pan.
He was a puzzle that I was determined to solve. Perhaps
it was I that was the missing piece? But I am afraid that I am getting
ahead of myself.
Pixie Dust. It is the kind of magic that causes the
seasons to turn. It is the kind of magic that creates images and
ideas in your thoughts. It can bring many things to your remembrance,
but it can also twist the truth of the past or cause you to forget it
altogether. It is the magic that brings storybook characters to life.
The magic that causes- or rather, encourages- images to leap off of
the pages of your favorite stories and taunt you in your dreams. It's
the kind of magic that you can feel all around you, but the moment
that you question it, it disappears. It is the very root of
excitement and adventure. Magic. Perhaps it was this magic that gave
the boy that special zest for life. But it was also by this very same
magic that Peter Pan was able to fly.
Sincerely Yours,
Wendy Moira Angela Darling