Seated at my computer, I had just finished reading “Desiderata” by Max Ehrlman, which a  a friend had sent to me, when I noticed on the floor beside my chair a strange little creature. “Hi,” I said, in a questioning tone, and he returned the greeting.

“Don’t you wonder what I am?”

“Well, yes, but I figured you’d introduce yourself.”

“I am a Pixie. and you don’t believe in me.”

“Well, yes, I guess that’s usually so, but I’m not understanding what I’m seeing right now.”

“How can I make you believe what you see?”

“Ummm…” I looked closer at him. He was the spitting image of the pixies in fairy tales, right down to the upturned toes of his shoes and the the little peaked hat.  And small! A miniature person.  “What fairy tale did you spring from?”

He gave a little smile.  “Yours.” He held out his spindly little hand and said, “Touch me.”  I did so, and found him warm.

“To what do I owe this surprising visit?”

He paused and fixed me with a penetrating stare. “You. I think if you can believe in me, then you can start believing in yourself again.”  With that the little feller faded into thin air, leaving me staring into my computer screen, surrounded by the aroma of cinnamon sugar.  Just maybe my heart hasn’t turned to stone.

I read “Desiderata” again, and felt a stirring in my heart.  I’m back alive.