I’m sorry Midnight, but I am not writing about you this week. I will again, but this week, I have some fairies for you–and a poem–and a painting/sketch
Today I was looking at Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Fairy Poems.
Here is a quote from her introduction from an essay she wrote in 1916,entitled “Fairies Still Appear to Those with Seeing Eyes”:
Have you seen any fairies lately? I asked the question of a little girl not long ago. “Huh! There’s no such thing as fairies,” she replied. In some way the answer hurt me, and I have been vaguely disquieted when I have thought of it ever since.
In the long, long ago days, when the farmer gathered their crops, they always used to leave a part of whatever crop they were harvesting in or on the ground for the use of the “Little People.” ……
I have a feeling that childhood has been robbed of a great deal of its joys by taking away its belief in wonderful, mystic things, in fairies and all their kin. It is not surprising that when children are grown, they have so little idealism or imagination, nor that so many of them are like the infidel who asserted that he would not believe anything that he could not see.
The Quaker made a good retort, “Friend! Does thee believe thee has any brains?”
By the way, have you seen any fairies lately? Please do not answer as the little girl did, for I’m sure there are fairies and that you at least have seen their work.
Gosh, I love her even more after reading that. And now, in an act of audacity, I follow Laura Ingalls Wilder with my own poem/story:
The fairies in my garden
What do the fairies do all day,
In the garden, in the sun?
They float and fly, they work and play.
They’re always having fun.
I do not think they notice me
For they pay me no mind.
But I could watch them endlessly
In rain or shade or shine.
They take care of the leaves and flowers
They dust them and clean them with ease
They scrub them with brushes when there are showers
And dry them in the breeze.
In the late afternoon, when the sun is quite hot,
They stop to drink their tea.
They sit ‘neath snapdragons in a pot
And are fanned by friendly bees.
But when night comes and the moon does rise
And the children are asleep in bed,
The fairies do not shut their eyes,
But dance all night instead.
I watch them from my window
And I do not make a peep.
The sound of fairies laughter
Carries me off to sleep.