“The Green Unicorn”

A Whispered Reminder -

Seek not in mirrors, nor in the crowd, for magic within is quiet, not loud.

Close your eyes, let silence begin, the brightest enchantment is woven within.

“The Green Unicorn - The Springtime Glow”

There once was a unicorn, green as spring’s first breath, its hooves drumming dew-songs, its mane shimmering with wild light.

It roamed a meadow of moss and clover, content in the labyrinth of living earth until the path bent sideways, spilling it into a land without colour.

Here, the people wore grey suits.

Grey faces, grey tongues, grey mornings stacked on grey nights.

Each one blurred into the other, as though the soul had been pressed

into a single, starched shadow. Everyone said the same thing, some louder, some dressed in ties and pins. Everyone scrambling, climbing, clawing, just to fit in.”

The unicorn halted. Its emerald hide burned too brightly, its horn gleamed too fiercely.

It wondered: am I too to wear this uniform? Shall I fold myself smaller?

Shroud my green in smoke,

pretend I am not what I am? So I might be seen to fit in.” Shall I shout louder so they can see me as their eyes look for the tracks to follow?

But a unicorn knew deep inside that it cannot unbecome, for it is only for those who can see magic when it stands before them.

It cannot file down its horn, nor drain the fae meadow from its blood.

So it raised its head, and the grey suits turned, startled by the impossible sight of a creature that refused to fade.

The unicorn walked on, each step planting emerald fire in the cracks of the pavement, each breath weaving meadow-wind through the stagnant air.

The suits muttered, the grey grew restless.

Yet in a few eyes, a hidden spark awoke, and the unicorn knew:

Magic is not meant to fit in.

If it dimmed itself to join the crowd,

Its essence would vanish, its horn would dull, its soul would be gone to smoke.

So it turned its gaze back to the meadow, to the velvet green where it belonged, where the true magic thrummed, not in mirrors of sameness, but in the living spring of the earth.

The unicorn knew, as all wild hearts do, its only task was to stand and be true.

And those who could see, grown weary of grey, would seek out its horn to light them the way.

Through cracks in the pavement, the magic would flow to the velvet green meadow where true hearts still go.

There enchantment awakens, there wonder resumes, where unicorns wander and eternity blooms.

For in the land of the Fae and the leprechaun, unicorns gather where true hearts belong.

They come out to play when the spirit is clear, when eyes are calm, and the heart is sincere.

And so the green unicorn walks on, a beacon in the twilight, grazing in wonder beneath the moonlight, hidden in plain sight, yet always seen by those who remember… How to dream in colour and never again try to blend it.

By Delahrose Roobie Myer