Rory slept, fitful beneath the crescent moon and winking
stars shining through his window. He dreamed a cockroach slogged through his
oatmeal before riding this spoon toward his mouth. He woke gasping, sure he
heard small feet scrabbling across his birchwood floor. What was it?
Flashlight in hand, Rory got down on his knees and looked
under his bed. Nothing there. As he rose the light washed the wall beneath the
window and there he spied a small silhouetted figure clamoring onto the sill
before jumping out.
Quick as a flash Rory was outside, his flashlight swinging
wildly across the lawn in search of movement. There it was. A tiny figure
heading to the coy pond at the edge of his yard where the forest began.
The leaves on the trees rustled a greeting as he neared. He
ignored them and focused on the small body skimming across the water on the
back of a fish. Rory’s flashlight illuminated the sprite as he reached the
other side of the pond and stepped into the fairy garden his ex-wife had left
behind. The tiny being turned, winked at Rory and disappeared beneath the
nearest toadstool.
Rory woke, again. His feet were cold and the moon had
shifted, but all was quiet except for the distant rustle of the trees.
He closed his eyes, resigned to counting sheep. And maybe a
shepherdess with a cane too, just for good measure.
