"You've heard the stories of the trolls, I am sure!"
"No." I said, "please tell me one."
"Well they are here, minding their business and all that, but when they see you coming, they quickly turn to stone."
He was a jolly and fat American on holiday with his wife. Together, they were first place shoo-ins for a Mr. and Mrs. Claus look-alike competition. They had stopped us for directions through the maze of stone pinnacles and pathways that was Dimmuborgir.
He was only joking, but the idea stuck - trolls, I thought. Trolls indeed. Much like the ones Bilbo encounters. I logged the thought into memory, along with my own stories - those few precious encounters I have shared with the Hidden Folk of this world.
. . .
When I was thirteen, I had the gift of clear-seeing. I knew there were fairies in the wind that swept over the paddocks outside my house. I could talk with them, without pretension or apprehension. Nobody had told me otherwise.
When I was fourteen, I undertook to write a song to the Good Folk. Imperfect and heartfelt, I sang this song at times when I felt the presence of the Hidden Folk.
It was this song that I remembered and drew out of the dusty corners of my mind when we visited Iceland. I felt so drawn to discover the sacred spaces of the Huldufólk: the Elves and Dwarves and Trolls and Lovelings, so I wandered here and there, listening always with both ears.
. . .
From Álfaborg I heard her soft voice
Saw the sun in her spun gold hair
The Queen under the (tiny) mountain.
And a few of her entourage
Living in the hollows
among the purple heather flowers
MY SONG TO THE FAERIES
sung in a tune
not unlike the old carol
We Three Kings
“Strange music floats
Within the glade
From reedy pipes
That Pan has made
Long long ago we lived with the Fae
Harmony and peace ruled in that day
Man became strong
Took over the land
The faeries left
Not seen by man
Gone out of sight
Into the Earth
Gone with them is
Their joy
And their mirth
Now if you’re quiet
Patient and strong
You may hear
The tree dryad’s song
Cross the threshold of time
A ring
And hear the Fae laugh
Dance proudly and sing
As the wind whispers
Hear the laughs of the sylph
And look through the waters
Where mermaids still live
They are not gone
The Fae are still here
Just out of sight
To untrained minds
Now listen quietly
As Pan plays his pipes
And the Fae laugh
and dance through this still night”
