1) Sensory Detail

The yellow lights of the stars and moon illuminated the little village. Cold wind blew through the blue streets, highlighting the flowery perfumes impregnating the fields. The little church, whose pointed, long steeple stood out from the rest of the village, could easily be seen, near the small illuminated houses. The house lights, in some way connecting to the stars and the moon, illuminated the lives of those living in those buildings. The trees danced, and moved around, with their leaves following suit, imitating the silhouette of the blue whirling wind. Knives were cutting through my skin, or at least the cold night air made me think so.

And the fields, now as blue as the night sky on top of them, moved in a symphony of colours, like sea waves, waterier and less earthly.

An owl hooted in silence. That starry night seemed to be painted in my mind and the blues mixed with the yellows.


2) Unexpected Detail

The woman walked in front of me. Her long chequered dark grey dress, which she was holding with both hands, as she walked with her steady pace, in front of me, brushed the earth and dry grass beneath her. A dark red belt enveloped her small slender waist. The clouds, white in the sky, above, were somewhat strangely announcing forthcoming showers. She smelt of earth and flowers and of all the beautiful things that Nature brings with it. Her movement was a dance, each step affirming her beauty and uniqueness. Her small feet, or what seemed  to be feet, could not be seen under her long dress.


She was a woman but she had deer horns. Yes, horns! Beautiful horns that made her taller than what she already was. A magical creature from the woods, now heading with me towards the city. She was slowly shape-shifting from a deer to a beautiful woman, as we walked, with steady pace.

That magical world was also known to me. I had, in fact, lived many years with faeries, fauns, unicorns, wizards, succubi, incubi, gnomes, witches, fey spirits, giants, phoenix birds, demons and angels, and all those creatures that humans (except children) normally only acknowledge in story books or as myths.

And every month she would walk, steadily, with me back to the city, to see her son who had been captured in the woods and was now in the city zoo.

And I would then take her back, and as we returned, she would then shape-shift back to a deer gain, once more part of Nature and of that fantastic world of magic that humans (except children) are scared to see.

Diego Donati
We are all heroes of our own stories