La Fée Verte
Last night, during a meeting, I noticed the green fairy perched on a shelf. She wasn't the shy, retiring kind, who easily blended into the sea of brown that surrounded her. No, she sat there, front and center, brazenly daring me to stare at her.
I knew I had to meet her.
After we adjourned and the others left, I mentioned to our host that I had seen her sitting across the room from me. I explained my long-time fascination with her, this muse who had known Verlaine, Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Wilde and so many others whom I admire.
I hinted that we had never, in fact, met.
Good friend that he is, he arranged an introduction.
The glass. The sugar. The preparation, a tea ceremony of sorts, whets the appetite. The water turns her vibrant green to pearlescent white. The taste. Herbal, like hay and spices. Not sweet. Not bitter. Comfortable. The taste and smell linger. Lulling.
I understand why she exerted such influence.
After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world.
- Oscar Wilde