When I was born, I was Royal.

I blossomed from the deep, riding a jellied steed to the surface of a new world. I fell in love with the milk and honey in the stars, and I stood through the furious rainstorm to hold up the dots and dashes for my sisters to see. I hugged tight and ran with abandon.

When I was small, I knew secrets.

I knew where the wind came from. I could climb trees that no one else could see. I danced to the sound flutes, and little ghosts played along on acorn drums.

When I was a child, I could fly.

The crows made a staircase and let me dance on their backs. Although I was far from home, bread baked in my heart and the boy next door took me on the back of his bicycle and peddled me through the plaza.

When I was a child, I was brave.

I spun coral courage and walked on speckled spiderwebs. I slid down banisters and chased gold tokens through the hydrangeas outside the barn. I waded through the flooded fields until my toes shriveled and the sun began to set behind the train tracks. I followed the river home.

When I was in school, I learned to write.

I tied up encyclopedias with my bootlaces to keep them closed, and I carried cracked stones in a leather bag. I followed strangers and ducked under leafy branches until I found a secret place. I wrote lyrics to a heart song and whispered them into the sawdusty frame of an unfinished violin. City lights were my stars and the bus-stops marked my country roads.

When I was in school,

When I grew older, I had dreams. Strange dreams.

I folded pages from my old books into the shapes of paper airplanes and when I poured them off of the balcony, they took flight. I saw spectres under the stairs. Bone-boys waved at me from the treetops and black snow blinked at me as it fell. As I wandered into the forest, my feet and hands shrunk and my eyes widened. Behind me I felt the breath of a monstrous elk. I heard a bicycle bell ring my name. I heard flutes and acorn drums.

When I was a child, I could fly.

Now, I build airplanes.

My creations blow the wind through the canfers, and my smiles spawn the sounds of wonder that play in the forest symphony. With my own hands, I set the sun on the bureau of dreams. I disappear around corners, leaving only winks and magic. I will the tide, and bake the bread. I steady the air, and conduct the train.

I have a shop in the city, a shop that can only be found through curious miracles. The door to my shop is always open, and I am always working, but I am never busy. In my shop, I build airplanes. At dusk, when the children are beginning to dream, I fly my airplanes, so that as they glance out their window, they think they see magic. And they do.