Marigold, the fairy, spends Spring dancing in the breeze, in the garden where daffodils, match-heads, snow drops and celandines show their fine colours and emit their sweet fresh perfume of the warming season. She leads a happy and carefree life. The Summer is ahead, those long glorious days when life has no cares nor worries.
Marigold dances, twirling her shimmering skirt as she flits from flower to flower, sipping the dewdrops nestling amidst the folded petals, and slides with her gossamer wings splayed outwards to keep her balance, down the rib of the long green shiny daffodil leaves. As yet the bees are still cocooned in the hive waiting for the sun to cross the equator and warm the hemisphere. Beneath the soil, worms are burrowing busily and excavating the soil, aerating it to make space for the roots of plants to spread and multiply. Marigold loves Spring.
Summer sneaks in haltingly and Marigold sets up house beneath the tall, shady gunnera, which acts as a parasol. When Summer showers sprinkle down, or thunderstorms hose the land from angry skies, Marigold is thankful for the tall gunnera. Even on very hot days when it seems as though the very sun has descended from the heavens sending its scorching rays onto the parched earth, tall gunnera is there, a shady refuge. She nestles in the flower heads and lolls the heat of the day away.
Autumn blows in. Leaves fly everywhere, branches of the plum tree bend as the last fruits splatter onto the dry ground. Gunnera is brown and wilting. His parchment leaves, now brittle, bend and break. Marigold's home is disintegrating. She gathers her belongings, stores them in an ivy-leaf bag, and sadly leaves her little corner of the garden.
The concrete path is strewn with dangers. Huge feet, clad in heavy shoes, plod along, and Marigold has to duck and dive to be safe. At one stage she trips and falls over the side of the path. Down, down, down, she falls, her wings acting as a parachute until she lands safely. The grass is a jungle. Tall spikes, straight at the top where the lawn mower has recently cut them, spread apart and Marigold tumbles onto the brown soil. She looks around. Just a few inches away a worm pokes his head ~ or is it his tail ~ above the ground.
"Oh," he thinks, "just another fairy."
Disinterested he goes back to his underground chamber to continue the endless task of renewing the soil. Marigold is thankful the grass is so tall. All those birds ~ peck; peck; pecking in their never-ending search for worms are less likely to see her among the long grass. Like vultures they search, head first to one side, then the other as they listen for the rumbling train noise of worm as he slides along his own-made tunnel.
After what seems forever, and with darkness fast approaching, Marigold is bewildered and lost. A big leaf rolls by, and by stretching up high, she is able to grasp its slender yellowed stalk and wraps it around herself, giving her shelter for the night.
Early next morning, as the sun is beginning to rise in the east, Marigold rubs the sandman's dust from her eyes and plans her next move. Best to begin now, and with a bit of luck she will find her winter quarters before nightfall. Picking up her belongings she begins the arduous walk across the grass, pushing apart the tall green shards as she gingerly picks her way towards the huge expanse of white concrete. The journey takes all day, but by dusk her goal is in sight. In a sheltered corner there is a pyramid of pot plants. Pots and saucers with several varieties of plants growing in them are stacked on a series of shelves outside the window of the garden shed. They are leafy all winter and offer a great home. One of the saucers has a nest of leaves and cobwebs and Marigold uses these to build a cosy home. The spiky cacti in the pot do not get watered over Winter and their prickly exteriors ensure that the black bob-tailed cat will not let curiosity over come him. She settles down to while the Winter away.
That is where Fairies go for Winter!
Marigold dances, twirling her shimmering skirt as she flits from flower to flower, sipping the dewdrops nestling amidst the folded petals, and slides with her gossamer wings splayed outwards to keep her balance, down the rib of the long green shiny daffodil leaves. As yet the bees are still cocooned in the hive waiting for the sun to cross the equator and warm the hemisphere. Beneath the soil, worms are burrowing busily and excavating the soil, aerating it to make space for the roots of plants to spread and multiply. Marigold loves Spring.
Summer sneaks in haltingly and Marigold sets up house beneath the tall, shady gunnera, which acts as a parasol. When Summer showers sprinkle down, or thunderstorms hose the land from angry skies, Marigold is thankful for the tall gunnera. Even on very hot days when it seems as though the very sun has descended from the heavens sending its scorching rays onto the parched earth, tall gunnera is there, a shady refuge. She nestles in the flower heads and lolls the heat of the day away.
Autumn blows in. Leaves fly everywhere, branches of the plum tree bend as the last fruits splatter onto the dry ground. Gunnera is brown and wilting. His parchment leaves, now brittle, bend and break. Marigold's home is disintegrating. She gathers her belongings, stores them in an ivy-leaf bag, and sadly leaves her little corner of the garden.
The concrete path is strewn with dangers. Huge feet, clad in heavy shoes, plod along, and Marigold has to duck and dive to be safe. At one stage she trips and falls over the side of the path. Down, down, down, she falls, her wings acting as a parachute until she lands safely. The grass is a jungle. Tall spikes, straight at the top where the lawn mower has recently cut them, spread apart and Marigold tumbles onto the brown soil. She looks around. Just a few inches away a worm pokes his head ~ or is it his tail ~ above the ground.
"Oh," he thinks, "just another fairy."
Disinterested he goes back to his underground chamber to continue the endless task of renewing the soil. Marigold is thankful the grass is so tall. All those birds ~ peck; peck; pecking in their never-ending search for worms are less likely to see her among the long grass. Like vultures they search, head first to one side, then the other as they listen for the rumbling train noise of worm as he slides along his own-made tunnel.
After what seems forever, and with darkness fast approaching, Marigold is bewildered and lost. A big leaf rolls by, and by stretching up high, she is able to grasp its slender yellowed stalk and wraps it around herself, giving her shelter for the night.
Early next morning, as the sun is beginning to rise in the east, Marigold rubs the sandman's dust from her eyes and plans her next move. Best to begin now, and with a bit of luck she will find her winter quarters before nightfall. Picking up her belongings she begins the arduous walk across the grass, pushing apart the tall green shards as she gingerly picks her way towards the huge expanse of white concrete. The journey takes all day, but by dusk her goal is in sight. In a sheltered corner there is a pyramid of pot plants. Pots and saucers with several varieties of plants growing in them are stacked on a series of shelves outside the window of the garden shed. They are leafy all winter and offer a great home. One of the saucers has a nest of leaves and cobwebs and Marigold uses these to build a cosy home. The spiky cacti in the pot do not get watered over Winter and their prickly exteriors ensure that the black bob-tailed cat will not let curiosity over come him. She settles down to while the Winter away.
That is where Fairies go for Winter!
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