She came today for a tiny, magical visit. A wisp of a thing who darted so fast that I could barely catch a glimpse of her. I could hear her more than I could see her. She filled the house with sunshine and the sounds made by little, rapidly-fluttering fairy wings.
The first thing she did was fly to the playroom
and dress herself in something very fairy-ish.
That is the first thing she always does.
I could hear her talking to another fairy.
Wings, sparkles, other fairies and quiet places to hide.
Oh. And fairy food.
That’s what they talked about.
Fairies love to cook.
What are you cooking, I asked ?
Just fairy things and they are a secret.
You can taste them when I am finished.
Fairies must have cloths for their tables, but her cloth was dirty.
She put it into the washer and in a minute it was clean.
Everything happens so magically fast in Fairyland.
She said I couldn’t watch her cook.
Fairies don’t like to be watched.
They don’t? I didn’t know that.
They like to be safely hidden.
I turned away
but watched her in the mirror.
she started to play and sing.
This is what she sang:
The fairies have never a penny to spend, they haven’t a thing put by:
But theirs is the dower of bird and of flower and theirs are the earth and the sky.
And though you should live in a palace of gold or sleep in a dried-up ditch,
You could never be poor as the fairies are, and never as rich.
Since ever and ever the world began they have danced like a ribbon of flame.
They have sung their song through the centuries long, and yet it is never the same.
And though you be foolish or though you be wise, with hair of silver or gold,
You could never be young as the fairies are, and never as old.
(Poem by Rose Fyleman)
Inside the case were fairies galore,
which Maya had never seen before.
Neither had I
and I wondered why.
Visits from grandchildren are magical.