The sun pauses at the western door to take a last look at the earth below before retiring for the night. A strong wind shakes a tree, waves its sunlight-filled leaves, and rattles unseen musical chimes. Birds riding on the dancing limbs sing out their store of gossip gathered over the day.
At the bottom of the steep slope below our home, a sparkling stream flows swiftly, churning and tumbling over rocks. With determined focus, the sun makes her journey across the foot of the hill rising above the stream. The green-faced hill crowned with trees lifts her shining face to the sun and then turns to me as if in question.
I feel like a small child saying goodnight to his mother. Please be back before turn dawn, I whisper. With a smile, the hill retreats with the sun into the gathering darkness, through the western door.
With the promise of stars for nightlights, I go inside, where I await the return of my own beloved to our small home beneath the shining stars.
Outside, beneath the steady rain, a maple tree Dryad shakes her leafy hair, scattering crystal raindrops all about her. Smiling, she looks up between the crescent-shaped green and pink-tipped leaf blossoming branches, watching the raindrops fall.
Some doll-sized Brownies walk about holding leaf umbrellas, more as a novelty than from a desire to stay out of the rain. Other Brownies twirl beneath the raindrops, enjoying the feeling of the cool drops upon their skin and clothing.
Watching the Brownies dance, two male Gnomes discuss the topics of the day, as small, narrow streams of raindrops pour off the brims of their pointed hats. The rain soaks their long beards, clothing and boots, but the Gnomes seem to enjoy the Spring showers and take no notice of the wetness.
I, a typical human, take shelter from the rain inside the house, as the cat snores in her sleep upon my lap and the dog, pressed up hard against my side, makes tiny, happy, yipping noises in her dreams.
Outside my covered front porch, the wind rustles bud-tipped tree branches. Their thin twigs form secret runes, displayed openly for anyone to see. The wind chime overhead plays tinkling music as it dances with the wind.
A passing small faerie man, about 8 inches tall, tips his narrow-brimmed pointed hat to me, wishing me a good afternoon. We try to exchange a few pleasant words, but a car roars past, startling us from our tentative communication. The small faerie man’s shy wife was just becoming visible beside him, but upon hearing the sound of the car’s grinding tires on the asphalt, they both disappear. Though our connection has been abruptly broken, I still feel their presence out there, somewhere in my front yard.
With the car long gone, the birds carry on with their own musical conversation.
Winter’s chill, felt most sharply in the darkness of night, reminds us of her presence upon the land. Yet with the coming of day, the sun shines in the blue sky. Birds chirp liquid songs from within trees and bushes. Faerie Folk softly sing songs or hum to themselves as they go about their gardening business. Greeting one another, they speak of flowers, vegetables and planting, as Spring’s green mantel finally spreads softly across the land.