Drabble #48
Aug. 31st, 2009 02:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sagesariaPrompt: #7: Aroused
Fandom: N/A
Genre: General
Rating: G
Notes: Doing something a little different; the following is an attempt to put words to my feelings about Faerie Fest. I'd personally like to thank Scott Helland and the Gypsy Nomads for writing the music that I was listening to the whole time I was writing this, and of course everybody who performs at the Maryland Faerie Festival for being the inspiration for this whole thing.
They call it nerdy. They call it kids' stuff. They call it stupid. I'm sure they call it a lot of other things that I haven't heard.
What do they know? They aren't there. They don't feel it like I do. I'm there every year, and I feel it. The whole weekend I feel it.
I feel it in the trees as we drive to the site. I feel it in the buttercups on the hill. I feel it in the wooden floors of the stages, in the wires and the speakers, in the microphones. I feel it in the moist grass and the smell of horses and hay bales. I even feel it in the cabins and the tents.
The energy of the festival.
You can't see it, but it's inescapable. It waits in the morning fog. When the first funnel cakes of the morning begin to cook, and the bands tune their instruments, and you see the cars lining the parking lot, you know it's there, and you're happy to see it. It embraces us all; be you a guest, a performer, or a vendor, you're already under its spell, and everything makes it grow stronger and stronger. It rises with every balloon animal, every story, every contact juggler, every beat of the drums. Dancers shake it out of them and fire spinners engulf it. You can feel it rise as the threatening clouds clear and the sun shines the moment the doors to the grounds open, and when the wind builds up as the belly dancers begin their routine.
Through this energy, the cares of the real world melt away, and for just a day you believe. The little girls in nylon wings are truly faeries. You see not a white horse with a fancy headdress, but a beautiful, real live unicorn. And for the first time in your life, you can get your picture taken with a baby dragon. They are all as real as you, and with this energy you can really see them. Even if you know the truth behind the scenes, like myself.
You are again a child, and have no shame in being so. You smile and laugh with the storytellers, participating as gleefully as those half your age. You tie a white cloth around the wishing three and marvel at the faerie houses. You run down the hill screaming at the top of your lungs, not caring what others think. After all, it is a Run About Wildly Screaming zone. You watch the magicians with wide eyes, asking yourself "How did he DO that?!"
When the energy touches you, all your inhibitions are cast aside, and your primal instincts are released. The music hits you in the chest like a ton of bricks and all you want to do is stand up and dance. You are an ogre, grunting and stomping with each boom, boom of the drum. You can't control your body, and you don't even care. You echo the chants and calls of the performers, not knowing what you're saying, but you do know that it can be nothing but good, and it feels good to say.
The energy consumes you, and not just for a day. The days before, and even the days after, you are still influenced and surrounded by it. Not until you wash away all the sweat and sunscreen with a real, hot shower, not until the sunburns and the bug bites fade away, does its power over you disappear, and you long to have it back.
Call it what you will, but nowhere else do I feel as alive as when I'm engulfed in that energy.
Fandom: N/A
Genre: General
Rating: G
Notes: Doing something a little different; the following is an attempt to put words to my feelings about Faerie Fest. I'd personally like to thank Scott Helland and the Gypsy Nomads for writing the music that I was listening to the whole time I was writing this, and of course everybody who performs at the Maryland Faerie Festival for being the inspiration for this whole thing.
They call it nerdy. They call it kids' stuff. They call it stupid. I'm sure they call it a lot of other things that I haven't heard.
What do they know? They aren't there. They don't feel it like I do. I'm there every year, and I feel it. The whole weekend I feel it.
I feel it in the trees as we drive to the site. I feel it in the buttercups on the hill. I feel it in the wooden floors of the stages, in the wires and the speakers, in the microphones. I feel it in the moist grass and the smell of horses and hay bales. I even feel it in the cabins and the tents.
The energy of the festival.
You can't see it, but it's inescapable. It waits in the morning fog. When the first funnel cakes of the morning begin to cook, and the bands tune their instruments, and you see the cars lining the parking lot, you know it's there, and you're happy to see it. It embraces us all; be you a guest, a performer, or a vendor, you're already under its spell, and everything makes it grow stronger and stronger. It rises with every balloon animal, every story, every contact juggler, every beat of the drums. Dancers shake it out of them and fire spinners engulf it. You can feel it rise as the threatening clouds clear and the sun shines the moment the doors to the grounds open, and when the wind builds up as the belly dancers begin their routine.
Through this energy, the cares of the real world melt away, and for just a day you believe. The little girls in nylon wings are truly faeries. You see not a white horse with a fancy headdress, but a beautiful, real live unicorn. And for the first time in your life, you can get your picture taken with a baby dragon. They are all as real as you, and with this energy you can really see them. Even if you know the truth behind the scenes, like myself.
You are again a child, and have no shame in being so. You smile and laugh with the storytellers, participating as gleefully as those half your age. You tie a white cloth around the wishing three and marvel at the faerie houses. You run down the hill screaming at the top of your lungs, not caring what others think. After all, it is a Run About Wildly Screaming zone. You watch the magicians with wide eyes, asking yourself "How did he DO that?!"
When the energy touches you, all your inhibitions are cast aside, and your primal instincts are released. The music hits you in the chest like a ton of bricks and all you want to do is stand up and dance. You are an ogre, grunting and stomping with each boom, boom of the drum. You can't control your body, and you don't even care. You echo the chants and calls of the performers, not knowing what you're saying, but you do know that it can be nothing but good, and it feels good to say.
The energy consumes you, and not just for a day. The days before, and even the days after, you are still influenced and surrounded by it. Not until you wash away all the sweat and sunscreen with a real, hot shower, not until the sunburns and the bug bites fade away, does its power over you disappear, and you long to have it back.
Call it what you will, but nowhere else do I feel as alive as when I'm engulfed in that energy.
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-31 08:22 pm (UTC)