I am fey. Fae. Faerie is a much better spelling than fairy. Fairy is too new. No one ever uses ae in anything anymore. So it follows that faerie should be spelled faerie, because there are not so many faeries around anymore. It might even be better to say, when speaking aloud, ‘fay-ree.’

Fae, then, is the quality of being like a faerie.

This morning, I am fae. Mostly I am fae in my behavior and mind set. To be fae physically would involve growing wings and losing a lot of weight.

It’s the fae time of day though, so I can be as fae as I like. Half past four in the morning is a twilight time. It’s a silent time, but it isn’t lonely.

The two cats wander into my room occasionally, and tell me the latest. Perhaps it is news, perhaps gossip about the frogs, perhaps complaints about the slowness of humans in opening doors for them. It’s only a conversational ‘mrra?’ to me, being fae doesn’t help with feline mysteries.

I went for a walk, just now, in my po-jammies. And my off brand sandal things. I was sitting in the living room, opening my new toothbrush. I had originally meant to just brush my teeth, in the bathroom, but when I went to open the package (it’s a very new toothbrush) it was loud, and I was afraid I’d wake someone, so I went to the living room, which is on the other side of the house from any bedrooms.

The cats appeared and wished to go out. So I opened the door for them. It didn’t seem so cold outside, and it was just sulking overcast, so I got my sandals and followed the cats outside. I ripped open the toothbrush. It made a nice ripped plastic sound. The cats gave me ‘what do you think you’re doing?’ looks, so I went down to the dock.

This year seems to be the 7th year in one of those seven-year cycles, there’s an overdose of pollen from the spruce trees. There is a bunch of it floating in the lake, a pale yellow film on the surface. I remember one year when I was little when it did this, but there was a lot more. Of course, I lived in a different house where there were more spruce trees at the time.

The cats followed me out on the dock. It’s funny to watch them hurrying through the grass. They sort of hop, or bound.

After the pollen had lost it’s appeal (how long can you spend looking at yellow powder?) I walked off across the lawn, to go see the horses.

I was thinking I should sing or soemthing, like I usually do when walking around in the early morning, to warn moose of my approach. Then I noticed there was a moose not far ahead, just off the road. He was watching me, warily. “Good morning moose,” I said.

Moose (meese?) aren’t really dangerous. Sure, they could kill you, but that’s if you’re stupid or its a moose that’s got serious psychological problems. They’re herbivores, after all. You don’t startle them, you leave if you come across a mother with a baby. Myself, I don’t know how well they can see, so I always keep up a running monologue when dealing moose. They’re really good at listening.**

“I’m taking a walk this morning,” I told this particular moose. “It’s 4 am, or maybe it’s later by now. I don’t really know. You can just sit there. Or you can leave. Or you could have a mouthful of plants too, if you like. Yes, just like you’re doing now. I’m just a 15 year old girl. A human girl. Taking a walk at an ungodly hour for reasons I’ve forgotten. I’m wearing a tshirt, underpants, sweatpants and sandals. They’re tevas. Wait, no, they’re not tee-vas. Tay-vas. However it’s said. No, they’re made by a company called river rapids. I’ve had them for a long time. Oh yes, I wanted to tell you, moose, that I’m not wearing a bra. Just my CTY tshirt, undies and sweatpants. And my off brand sandals. Goodbye moose! Mr. Moose. Or Miss Moose? Ms. Moose? The Honorable Moose! Goodbye to you, The Honorable Moose!”

I looked back. The moose had moved closer to the road and was watching me, with an odd sort of look on its face, even for a moose. Perhaps it was confused.

The horses, Dominoe and Rummington, weren’t much fun. When I got over to them, it started to rain. Horrid clouds anyway. Then, the horses turned out to have their own personal bug clouds. Rummi came over to me, like he always does, and brought his bugs. I let him sniff my hands, and watched his feet carefully. Horses have big feet, and if they forget where they’re putting them, sandals won’t help.

I didn’t want to walk back across the pasture, so I had to lure Rummi away from the part of the fence where I go through. It’s barbed wire, and mostly metal posts, but some places there’s two of thicker wooden posts with one slantwise between them, which I can climb over. Rummi watched me go, Dominoe never seems to pay much attention to people.

The moose was gone when I walked back, but the cats were waiting for someone to open the door for them again.

**I’m not an expert. I just live here. Don’t sue me if you talk to a moose and it tramples you anyway.