Jas. Hook, Captain

Perhaps, the Last Wild Place

At first, our luminous guide sped rapidly ahead of us and, despite our excitement, we could not shake the chill that clung to us like a shroud. We very nearly lost her in the clouds, and at times we had to let go of our search for her and pursue that second star on our own. But then, in time, she would return to lead us once more. Like a small flock of migrating ducks.

Strange, that she had seemed so determined to escape the shackles of our world before morning light arrived, but it felt to me that days were passing us by and we were ever on the verge of morning. I began to wonder if she was not leading us into a land of eternal night.

Slowly, gradually, the chill lifted and we became ensconced in cottony warmth, and the taste of salt sea air brushed our lips.

On we flew, and I began to wonder if we might ever reach our destination, precipitous as morning was. Yet it did come, and when it did the sky was ablaze with colour, the likes of which two poor boys from Liverpool had scarce ever a chance to behold. I believe I could've offered a hundred names for the variations of gray to which I was accustomed, but the colours of this sunrise left me baffled, and at the time I'm not sure that I could've provided half a dozen names for the spectrum before me. This majestic array of tints and shades left me at such a loss for words that I wondered if I had not abandoned my power of speech in its entirety.

"Well that's a pretty thing, and no mistake," Peter whispered.

"I dare say it's much more than that," I muttered.

"Then I dare you to say much more," he jested, but I was in no mood for our usual repartee.

"What is this place, lady?" I asked.

"You humans and your insufferable desire to name every last thing," she sniped. "Can't you simply appreciate something for what it is?"

A silhouette began to form down below us as though the blazing sky were a veil and God Himself was lifting it to have a peek underneath His own creation. Shortly, the peaked silhouette grew populous with shades of green and brown, strewn with trees and mountainous crags and waterfalls and rivers all about.

An island lay before us, and its features came into detail in our sight and I dare say we were stunned by its beauty.

"It has no name but that which has been whispered by the wind in its leaves, by the waves on its shores, and that is a secret that shall be kept for all time. Unless you learn to speak the language of the wind and the sea, that is."

"This fairy speaks in riddles," Peter scoffed.

"Where have you brought us, lady?" I asked.

She danced before my eyes.

"To a place where you shall not grow old, where adventure awaits the brave and bold, a land where a pauper would be King, where mountains dance and trees do sing. Goodbye to woe, to play's the thing."

"We shan't grow old?" Peter asked, disbelieving. A smile curled his lips.

"Not ever," she answered.

"Never?" he asked again.

"Never ever," she replied. "Indeed, this is the land of nevers. Of never worry, of never grow up, of never work, of never suffer more under the hand of grown-ups and their unimaginative ways."

We both marveled at the island before us.

"Then I shall call it Neverland, for it must have a name." he said, laughing. "I pronounce thee Neverland!" And he crowed like a rooster, and I did too.

We flew down to explore our new home.

"Are we the first to set foot in this place, lady, for it appears so pristine?" I asked.