I Almost Met Fairies

I thought of my mum as I looked through the gigantic bus window at all the trees. The scenery reminded me of Minnesota, and I took a few pictures so I could show my mother. The bus was huge, and filled with forty of my classmates. At my feet was the breakfast/lunch we had put into a paper bag, including a nutella-smeared bagel, a banana, an apple, a water bottle, a bag of crisps, and a Snickers bar. That day would prove to be a hungry day.

Our first stop that day was Stonehenge. I had always heard of Stonehenge, it was a famous monument, and it almost didn’t feel real that I was there, at this really important thing, like it was just another group of rocks. But I could feel it was important, and I know it is important because of the history and mystery surrounding Stonehenge. The thought of it being a ceremonial place appeals to me; I find rituals interesting. Maybe ancient people charged crystals there. Maybe they sat in a circle and prayed with the rain and they didn’t know who they were praying to but they could feel something with them in the wind. Maybe they sat there with fairies and gnomes and were on friendly terms, at least, and they understood each other and talked and traded secrets.

After taking windy selfies at Stonehenge, we filed back into the bus and drove to Stourhead. I did not expect it to be as beautiful as it was. The air still felt like rain, and everything was an emerald green. It all reminded me of places fairies would be. There were flower trees sparkling with leftover rain drops, and Olivia and I wore them on our head to feel like dryads. I have a particular affinity for moss, and rocks, and mossy rocks, and there were mossy rocks everywhere. I could’ve explored that whole property and been so happy. I’m sure I would’ve met some fairies at some point.

Places like that are a little bit holy to me. All the places we visited struck me as holy, and if I had been by myself, I would’ve wanted to sit down and write. For me, those type of places invoke wonder and creativity and make me feel closer to some sort of clarity that gets muddled and forgotten and disguised with everyday life.


Before we got to Bath, our lovely coach driver, Bary, directed us to a few unplanned stops involving more rocks and a tomb. I think the group would have appreciated these experiences more if we hadn’t been so hungry and cold and it hadn’t been rainy, but if I could go back and choose to not go, I wouldn’t. I do believe rocks carry a positive energy, and I will probably never go back to that tomb or rock circle again in my life, and maybe those places will inspire me later, in my art or writing, things that are very important to me.


The city of Bath was lovely beautiful. I love cities, and I love London, but I found the calmness of Bath to be refreshing. The river at night was so beautiful. I think everywhere you go has the ability to inspire you, if you have the mind to look for it. Even simple patterns found on walls could be interesting and transferred into a painting. Art can be found anywhere and I’m thankful to travel new places to see and absorb and expand, which is what I’m doing every single second at places like the Roman Baths and Stourhead and Stonehenge and Tintern Abbey.

Patterns in the rock wall that I found interesting. 

The Roman Baths consisted of pillars and stones surrounding a big square pool of green-coloured water that bubbled up from a hot spring deep in the ground. Because of their lack of knowledge about science, the Romans believed that water was a gift from the gods and held special properties. I also found that concept to be romantic and nice, the idea of magic healing water. I sat at the edge of the bath and tried to pretend I was a Roman about to go for a swim.

Tintern Abbey was definitely a holy place for me, and similar to St. Paul’s cathedral, I felt a disparity between the place I was and how I was there. It seemed like a place that deserved quiet and reverence and would let you know things if you paid attention and listened. Wordsworth wrote the poem titled “Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey”. I have no doubt that Tintern Abbey is chock-full of poems, that they’re hidden in the bricks and corners, saturating the air and filling up the windows like glass, tangible to people like Wordsworth who can take them and translate them and write them down. I desperately want to return one day and find a poem. Everything about Tintern Abbey seemed sacred.