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.