and they don't call him a garden fairy without a reason. the garden fairy secretly visits his favorite place in the world, every morning and night. his smile, like the warm morning sun, makes the flowers grow. his deft hands, like water, caress the young floral buds, quenching the thirst. his feet walk through the weeds, turning them into blossoms. his fingers, like the wind, skim the blades of high grass, without his flesh being cut. his voice, like growth nutrients, nurtured the changing. he never failed to tend to his garden that it was so taken care of, it flourished under his love. both the garden fairy and his garden bloomed in every season imaginable, in every time of the day, month and year. she was his garden, and he was her garden fairy.
to my child who still enjoys playing with the flowers and the gardener whom she dearly loves.
