Of wells and fairies
At the bottom of my garden is a well. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but sometimes the fairies like to play in the well. I don’t know why. Sometimes they tell me to have a go too, but I say no. I’m a wee bit scared of the well. It is deep, and dark at the bottom, and once you’re in, it seems hard to get out.
Sometimes the light is at just the right angle, and you can see the water in the bottom. It looks very black down there. At times it is very sad, because you can see a fairy’s body. They can’t get back up if they go too deep, you see. So they fall and eventually drown. Sometimes I try and call to the fairies who are flying low to come back up before it is too late, but they hardly ever do.
I try not to drink from that well, because it is dark water with death in it. But sometimes, when the light is just right, and it shines deep into the well, it shines onto the wings of the fairies who have flown too low, and they sparkle and shine. They look beautiful. Then they call me, and ask if I want to fly with them down in the well. And sometimes I want to, because I want the beauty of their wings and the light to shine on me, too.
The fairies don’t know they are doomed, and so I always hope that they can fly back out. Even then I often want to join them, because they aren’t yet dead, and they look beautiful down there, and somehow it might work out okay. But it never does – unless one of the fairy princes comes and rescues them, sent by the fairy king. Sometimes they don’t even cry out for help, even when they realise that they have flown too low. I think the air down there must be a wee bit bad, and it must do something to the fairies. They don’t call out, and so the fairy princes hardly ever rescue them.
So, most of the time, I cry at the top of the well, as I watch their beauty fade and the shadowed depths block the light that sparkled on their wings. They seem to get tired, and slowly fly lower and lower, and the light can’t reach them at all. But still, sometimes you can see them in the water, when they are dead and unmoving. I don’t know why, but maybe it is to warn me not to fly with them into the well.
But some of my best friends are fairies.