The Fairy Guardian
Nobody in the suburbs knows anyone else. Oh, I know they see me out every morning to raise the flag with the blue stripe across the middle. From that they probably think they know everything about me. That I'm a steady man. Solid. Reliable. Honorable. Those things are true, if they could see beyond the wooden stockade fence they'd see another side.
They'd see the fairy garden.
It started with Mrs. Gant, who used to live next door. The kind of neighborhood catlady that would have been hanged as a witch in a different century. She always had the most perfect garden, the most vibrant flowers, the fattest tomatoes. I like gardening myself (see, you don't know everything about me) and asked her secret.
I remember to this day, how it felt to come into her yard. Like I was intruding into a feminine space where men don't belong. The smell of lavender and hibiscus, the delicate garden statues, the path of decorative stepping stones leading to a hidden spot beneath the forsythia bush where broken seashells were arranged in an abstract pattern. She waved her arm expansively, inviting me to take in the space, "This is my secret. I do it for them, to make them feel welcome."
"To make who feel welcome?"
She smiled. "The fey folk, of course. Fairies love lavender and hibiscus and spaces decorated with pretty stoneworks and little bits from far-off places. I give them a home and they give me their blessings."
It seemed true. Her yard was brighter than the others, her flowers grew bigger and more vibrant. Even the air had a different feel, a different energy. Even her sky seemed brighter.Mrs Gant is long gone, but I learned from her, and even gathered some of the things from her fairy garden. A few of the little statues, a handful of seasells. The flowers I grew myself. The fairy-home
grew from a corner to where it is now, filling in the fenced-in backyard, with worn stepping stones cutting paths through fields of cultivated wildflowers. I think all the fairies from the neighborhood have come to live here by now, which is good. IT means it's time.
How to attract fairies isn't the only thing I've learned.
Yesterday I turned on the garden hose which loops the yard three times. Three is a magic number, and fairies can't cross running water. Those that are here will remain here. They'll remain here as I sprinkle the garden with iron filings, they'll weaken.
They'll die.
And after that this cul-de-sac will be what it always should have been - a human place. Mrs. Gant attracted the infestation, I'm exterminating it.
I'm doing it for the neighbors, for the children. They deserve a human place.
They deserve protectors.
And now you know me.
No comments:
Post a Comment