It was a low day. The grey skies above matched the grey hope in my heart. Little things were a bother.
I sat on the front verandah, watching the night leech the grey out of the sky, turning on a little orange glow that fired up the red in my children’s hair. Little heads bent working, legs scurrying from here to there, gathering.
“Mumma, come and see!” came the excited cry. “We decorated the fairy garden!”
I dully lifted myself from my chair and ambled over, wondering why children always need their parents to verify every little thing they do. Look at me, look at me.
I swear the breath stopped in my chest when I saw what they had created. Every grey care I harboured was suddenly adrift, floating off to different waters and ships carrying joy, delight, wonder and perfect grace were coming in to dock. It felt that wonderful to see this fairy garden.
“It’s beautiful,” I said with all my heart.
“It’s magical,” said Cappers.
“Yes,” I agreed, my heart light. “It really is magical.”