Befriending a Bree

Albert and Grace are Brees, a type of fair folk who stand about 4 to 6 inches in height. Albert has bright blue eyes with curly, light brown hair tucked beneath a green pointed hat, which is decorated with a wide blue hat band from which a yellow feather peaks out. He wears a bright yellow shirt and brown pants and has gone barefoot today in order to feel the moist, green grass beneath his feet.

Grace, Albert’s wife, has hazel eyes and long, shining blonde hair with a windswept look to it. Grace calls it her wild, back to nature look. She is wearing a long, green dress with yellow Celtic-looking intertwining vine-like trim on the neck of her dress and also on the sleeves and hem. Grace, like Albert, is barefoot today in order to feel the green earth beneath her feet.

Albert remarks, “There are some indoor faerie folk, but they are more shy.”

Grace adds, “Even the ones in your own house.”

Albert rubs his chin. “Outdoors, a faerie has more options about staying and meeting you or running away. The poor faerie may feel more confident speaking with you if they are not feeling trapped in a room. A first time ‘getting to know you’ type of introduction between a human and a faerie is always best held outdoors.”

Grace agrees, standing on her tippy toes and taking a couple of little dancing skips. “And it is good for the human to bring us a gift,” she adds with a beautiful smile.

“What type of gift?” I inquire.

“Whiskey,” Albert suggests in a firm voice, grinning broadly.

“No, you silly goose!” Grace declares, playfully slapping Albert’s arm.  “Bring us a bowl of cream or a piece of buttered bread or even a handful of birdseed. We do not need these things ourselves, but we do like to share them with our animal friends.  And be sure to tell us you have brought the gift in honor of us.” Graces pauses, tucking a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. “And be quiet and listen. We just may say thank you and start a conversation.”

“Or we may not say a single word to you the first time or even the second or third time,” Albert declares, before disappearing with a friendly wave goodbye.

“Oh, you,” Grace laughs at her husband’s antics. “Keep trying,” she adds. “And your persistence may begin a friendship with a faerie.” Grace blows me a kiss and, with a delicate curtsy, disappears.

Peaceful Faerie Garden

My wife nurtures a faerie garden in front of our home. Her loving care must make this garden a wonderful place to live for the faeries. On a clear, bright day, I sit beneath an archway formed by a cascading, stained-glass green canopy of maple leaves. A stony pathway wanders beneath this archway, leading to our cottage hidden behind a tall faerie thorn tree. This archway, with its cascading waterfall of green leaves, hides a faerie vortex, a faerie pathway that runs along the stony path to our home.

Most people have better sense than to sit in the middle of a faerie pathway, but I don’t. Sitting beneath the tree, I look over to my right at a two-foot tall cream-colored statue of St. Francis. Ignoring my presence, St. Francis keeps his gaze upon the heavens above. Across the pathway of stone, a much smaller aqua-toned version of him gazes serenely back at his big brother.

I place my feet ever so gently upon the green moss that grows here. The soft, fragile moss has inched its way up to the very edges of the pathway stones. Across the pathway grow small faerie mounds of green juniper. Within the mounds, I can see miniature round doors and windows. A tiny Bree fellow, perhaps 4 inches tall, seats himself comfortably upon the soft material arm of my folding chair. Crossing his left leg over his right and resting his chin upon his hand, he leans forward to greet me. Smoke wafts peacefully up from his pipe as we sit together in silence.

The sun plays a game of shadows and light upon the juniper mounds and the towers of gently swaying, tall and slender purple and pink flowers that rise up beside them. Through a magic window framed by branches and green leaves, the Bree and I can see the forest-covered mountain rising up before my wife’s and my small cottage. A tremendous sense of peace fills me as I sit before the tall mountain, and, just for a moment, I become Bree-sized, and our small cottage lies hidden among the juniper mounds.