Fairies

Sitting in my garden
I glanced lazily to my left and then she caught my eye.
A fairy.
Perfect in form and personage.
She was kneeling and holding something.
Her hands clasped, no, cupped, in a kind of
prayer position.

She wasn’t a real fairy of course.
My wife, the fairy-buying queen,
had placed her there,
in the border by her favourite garden chair.

Then I noticed four more
in the fir tree
where there were  none before.
My eye now wandered to the earth
as if travelling through a picture.
And low and behold it rested on another three.
With them sat a pixie, his hands upon his knee.

I smiled to myself, and then
as if unveiled by some transformed belief on my part
yet another fairy revealed herself to my gaze.
It was her tiny toes that caught my eye
then her body, and then I
wondered why I hadn’t seen her before.

My wife arrived with the tea.
She smiled. Looked around, and winked at me.
Seen any fairies, she asked.
I don’t believe in fairies, they’re just stories from the past.
I smugly replied.

I know my wife though, she wouldn’t be denied.
You can’t buy fairies you know,
they just appear.

I laughed, winked, I never thought you’d bought them dear.

The honours in our repartee were shared.

That night, when I knew my loving wife was fast asleep,
I tip-toed to the window for a peep.
At what, I do not really know
but I couldn’t help feeling, since my fairy encounter,
a nagging, doubting, but lovely inner glow.

Suddenly I saw one move, I really did,
but don’t let on I told you so.
Winks.
Shush.
God bless.