The eye of the beholder.

She walked to me with an undeniable grace unrivaled by any I'd known. Clad in bright red shoes with an equally dazzling yellow coat, she looked straight into my eyes. Her soft hands touched the side of my face. This, she said; “Look all around you, what do you see?”

She stepped back, so I did. I turned around and looked on either side of me. There were buildings as tall as the cranes accompanying them with stores of long gone business at their base. There were trees fighting for life in odd nooks and little children with ear muffs playing tag behind them. Running, they chased each other with rugged twigs. The coffee guy from Queens was picking up littered paper cups from the snow-sleeked pavement, making his preparations for a lonely Christmas again this year. The odd shopper rushed panic-stricken, praying to the Gods to be able to catch the last of the end-of-year sales while hastily applying lipstick to at least have the dignity of vanity in disarray. And all the while, the pigeons picked up leftover chips dropped by busy go-getters, an apparent chirp in their step. Though this was not unusual.

“Look a little closer now. Bring yourself to chip the superficial layer away.” She said this in my ear in a tone leaking of conspiracy.

So I did. The buildings turned to mansions, uniform and profound – soldiers armed against the economic war of rowdy analysts and shortsighted financial statisticians. The little children turned to elves, cheeky and boisterous, laughs reverberating in the lighter atmosphere. Their twigs now hummingbirds the colours of rainbows not yet seen in this world. The coffee guy now a gentile dwarf, hobbling about the square, playing his lute to the casual listener. The odd shoppers now fairies, still as absorbed with the lure of vanity, but less grounded. Free in every sense of the word and alight with stories to recite to anyone who will care to sit with them on the whittled benches. The pigeons transfigured to doves, scattering garlands to those in need, spreading the message of Christmas.

“It's okay to believe.” She said with the slightest whisper imaginable. So quiet she conveyed this, that I would have missed it if I payed even the most minimal of attention to the fresh snowfall now blanketing out the remaining grey to be left of reality.