The Magic Garden
Page 2
*****
Sitting down to breakfast the morning after my discovery in the garden my train of thought is, to say the least, not riding the rails. The newspaper, as always, is open in front of me and, as always, I’m pretending to read it.
My mind, however, is dancing.
Outside, in the dead of night, the Queen of the faeries has already alighted upon the Magic Garden. Her hair is a silken cushion on which rests a crown of gold, her movements are the epitome of lithe elegance.
“Will?” Elette’s voice pulls me from my reverie.
“Hmmm? What? Yes?”
She laughs, “you’re even less ‘here’ than usual. What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, things,” obfuscation and misdirection always work best, I find, “has the mail arrived yet?”
“Yes, but we got a slip from the post office. There’s a package to pick up.”
“A package?”
“Indeed,” she smiles that charming smile reserved for my ‘moments’, “old Pat’s retired. I told you last week, so we’re going to have to pick up our own packages. Do you notice anything outside of your little world?”
The words might sting if not for the grin that hangs from every syllable. I wave the newspaper at her as though she’d believe for a moment I’d read it.
“Well,” I can’t leave the house, I might miss the Queen, “uh, do you want me to fetch it?”
She laughs - the music of joy - reading my tone like a book.
“Relax. I was expecting a parcel, I’ll pick it up.”
“Oh? Who’s sending you gifts?”
“Hmm. Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teases with a wink.
Truly, I would.
While Elette gets changed for going out, I make a show of piling our dishes around the basin, but I can’t keep my eyes from the window for long. There’s nothing outside for now but birds, foraging in the grass for grubs and crumbs. Faeries are late risers.
Surely the Queen wouldn’t arrive in these early hours?
I can’t resist the temptation of watching for her though, and every time I glance outside I sincerely expect to see her gently floating to the ground like a leaf on the breeze.
What might she look like - Just one more among a swarm of faerie women, each a beauty beyond belief in her own right?
No. She would be something special, something magical. I just know it.
I squint at the old jacaranda across the yard, searching for a wee flash of skin, golden hair or raven locks between the lilac petals.
“Lost again?”
“What? Bugger. Yes.”
Elette’s laugh is an inviting one, without a trace of mockery it forces a guilty smile to my lips.
“Just try and have the dishes done by the time I get home,” her hair strokes my cheek as she leans forward to kiss my ear, “I swear, we’re going to have to get blinds for that window.”
I turn to watch as she disappears out through the door, dark wisps of hair carried on the still air behind her. On the few occasions that my attention can be dragged from the wonder outside it is always Elette that draws it.
I rarely let her know, but perfection is the sight of the women I call my wife.
The dishes are done in moments that seem to take forever, and then I’m back at the window, watching as the first few heads peer up from their homes beneath miniature canopies of green. Before long, little lizard-skin wings are carrying them into the air to begin another day of dancing on the wind.