Silently we lie belly down in the grass, eyes wide open, breath drawn, gripping each other’s hands in excitement, anticipation mounting. We have been here before multiple times over the past few months, each time sure that the previous had been nothing more than figment of some shared magical moment.
We look at each other, mouths stretching into wide grins, happy just to be together, sharing this moment of anticipation. Far too excited to continue looking at something as mundane as her mother, my sweet child squeezes my hand and turns her bright face back down the hill toward the row of not-yet-lighted miniature garden lamps swaying lazily on their hooks inches from the ground.
The sun slowly begins to kiss the horizon and the air seems to tangibly shift from a clear light to a liquid honey, tantalizing my sense of smell with each inhale.
“Mamma, look!” The words are a mere whisper on the wind as she gestures towards the daisy beds at the bottom of the garden where the bumble bees bounce from bloom to bloom, seemingly defying the laws of physics as they keep their heavy bodies aloft through the exertions of tiny translucent wings.
From the other side of the garden a kaleidoscope of butterflies kiss the honeysuckle wound around the garden arch.
As the daylight fades the lamps begin to glow, casting golden semi-circles of light on the ground beneath them. As if drawn by the light, slowly a family of squirrels wriggle their way towards the lamps and are met by a pair of rabbits approaching from the other direction. They meet by the lamps and touch noses, as if in greeting.
“Mamma! Did you see that? They spoke to each other!” I can feel the energy pulsing through her petite frame, her eyes glued to the scene unfolding beneath us. “It’s gonna happen, Mamma. Tonight. I can feel it!” She flattens her slight body into the ground, noticeably slowing her breath as if afraid any movement might break the spell.
My heart swells as I watch this dainty creature of mine visibly struggle to contain her bubbling enthusiasm. I feel the love for this child wash over me, her enthusiasm igniting my own and drawing me back to my youth and innocence.
I recall the days of crafting stories in my head about the magical worlds of backyard animals, how they lived and played, the troubles the encountered when facing the threat of en encroaching human world. My vision focused on the rabbit animations unfolding before me and attention tuned to the fabrications of my childhood dreams, a few moments pass before the purposeful nature of the actions unfolding beneath me crystalizes in my mind. The rabbits are taking position around the garden lamps.
As each one find his place in the garden another appears until every lantern has its own solemn sentinel, paw placed in delicate readiness on the glowing glass.
The darkness has grown thick around us and I squeeze my daughter’s hand as we silently watch the squirrels bow and retreat from the low border hedge as the leaves gently start rustling. Had I not been here before frequently throughout the summer I might not grasp the significance of such a minute motion, perhaps believing that the movement of the leaves indicated something which it did not.
The air is still, excepting the gentle flutter of wings, and the rustle of leaves gradually reveals itself to be the approach of this highly anticipated garden party.
In groups of three or four the delicate creatures, human in form but no larger than the tallest flowers, emerge from their hidden home in the hollow hedge, holding hands and kicking their minuscule feet and knees in what resembles a highland dance mashed with a rousing round of Ring-Around-the-Rosey. They dance and, barely audible over the rustling leaves and the evening’s orchestral tones, sing a music full of laughter and love, which invade every aspect of my heart, elevating me.
Hand in hand the creatures weave around the flower beds, bowing to the animal audience each in turn, terminating their advance in a circle at the center of the garden. The lanterns, held aloft by solemn rabbits, cast a hazy glow creating the illusion of a theatre in the round.
The garden party circles in time with the delicious sound of their tiny voices raised in praise of the delight of the evening, as slowly, one after the other, individuals break from the ring to perform his or her own individual physical interpretation of the night and music.
I break my gaze from the marvel below me to witness the pure and undiluted joy in the face of the girl dearest to my heart. Her light and innocence are breathtaking to behold.
“Mamma, there are fairies at the bottom of our garden!” They often have a dance on summer nights; the butterflies and bees make a lovely little breeze, and the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.* And we are the lucky two who are blessed by this enchanting joviality. I do not know why they chose our garden for their frequent fairy festivities but my heart tells me it is the innocence and imagination of my daughter who drew them. These otherworldly wonders surely are aware of our presence at their festivals of joy and celebration, and they approve.
The fairies dance on through the night as we watch them switching partners, changing the tune and tempo of their songs for each individual’s expression.
At long last the time comes to a close and our garden revelers retreat back to the outer circumference of their circle, each holding the hand of the companion on either side, and bow to each other. They turn to the animals—-birds, butterflies, bees, squirrels and rabbits—-who have assisted in the merrymaking, bowing low and respectfully to them before slowly melting into the shadows and returning to their mysterious home.
With the departure of the performers, the magic of the night seems to dissipate and the animal audience disbands, each turning homeward in his own way and time.
After a silent moment stretching through the cooling night air, my daughter turns to me, voice still hushed by the magic of what has just passed before our eyes, “We are the luckiest people in the world, Mamma. I will always believe in magic.”
I smile at her and silently agree. I kiss her forehead. “Yes, my love. I hope you always do. The world is a magical place if you’re open to it.”
*This story was inspired by a quotation from Fairies and Chimneys by Rose Fyleman. It was an exercise in creating a world around another’s words.
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