Fairies In the Garden

My garden brings the fairies, you will never know the hour. The sun may just be peeping past the apple tree in flower. See them? No! But I discern pixie clues they leave behind: the fragrant thyme they danced upon . . . I am always sure to find a dewdrop mirror clinging to a blossom hanging low; I hear their tinkling laughter when the breezes softly blow. Sometimes I think I spy them riding on a firefly's back at dusk above the garden, but their pathway's hard to track. Jumping off, hiding themselves in moss blankets--soft delights-- their flying steeds unharnessed. "Go to sleep, my garden sprites." Copyright, 5/1/2014 Faye Gibson