Scene From A Maple

"Cindy! Look!" Mary Lou pointed up into the branches of the maple tree they were standing under. Its bright, red leaves appeared to glow in the late afternoon sunshine.

The two friends were out exploring the woods behind their school on a Saturday afternoon.

"What?" Cindy asked, her blonde ponytail swinging.

"A fairy!" Mary Lou said, pointing at a very small fairy standing on a branch, looking at them. She was about six inches tall, her black hair cut into a short pixie.

She wore a green dress, the color of spring grass, and tiny violet-colored slippers with gold bells on the toes. She looked down at them too, and waved.

"Oh my gosh!" they both squealed, excited to see a real live fairy. She fluttered down and smiled at the two girls.

She twirled once in the air, her violet wings shimmering as she hovered before them.

“Who are you?” the girls whispered in unison.

“I’m Petunia,” she said in a voice as light and high as a silver bell.

“Where do you live?” Cindy asked, eyes wide.

Petunia gently patted the bark of the tree trunk. “Right here. This is my home.”

The girls giggled in excitement. Their mothers had told them fairy stories all their lives, but they had never imagined meeting one.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Cindy said.

“I know!” Mary Lou beamed. “And she’s so tiny... and so beautiful.”

Petunia’s wings fluttered as she gave them another soft smile. “I didn’t think anyone believed in us anymore. We’re mostly hidden now.”

“We believe!” Mary Lou said proudly. “Our mothers always said fairies live in trees.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Petunia replied, her voice warm with gratitude.

“What do you do for the trees?” Cindy asked, curiosity blooming in her voice.

“I keep the insects healthy, the tree happy, and the animals who live here safe and strong,” Petunia said. “That’s my job.”

“Do you have any helpers?” Mary Lou asked.

With a soft hum, Petunia sent a shimmering thread of gossamer into a knot in the tree trunk. A glittery shimmer followed, and from the hollow emerged a sleepy little male fairy.

His tousled yellow hair stuck out at odd angles, and his outfit, spun from yellow blossom petals, was wrinkled from sleep. He yawned a teeny yawn and blinked at the girls.

“Who’s that?” Cindy asked.

“That’s Marigold,” Petunia said with a smirk. “He was up late, watching over this tree’s sister a few groves over. She’s been sick.”

“Oh no,” Mary Lou said, her face falling. “How does a maple tree get sick?”

Marigold fluttered to a low branch and scowled. “Petunia! You’re talking to humans? You know we’re not supposed to.”

Petunia crossed her arms, tiny as she was, and scowled right back. “Oh, Marigold. Maybe if humans knew more about us and about the trees, they wouldn’t do so much harm.”

Marigold scoffed. “It won’t change anything. You’ll be in trouble with the Green Lady.”

“The Green Lady?” the girls asked in awe.

Marigold landed beside Petunia and pointed a tiny finger at them. “Maples get sick when people hurt them. Last night, someone carved initials into her bark. That weakens her. Wouldn’t it hurt if someone cut you?”

Both girls shook their heads solemnly. “It wasn’t us,” Cindy whispered.

“And we always pick up trash,” Mary Lou added.

Marigold gave them a skeptical look. “If that’s true, you’re rare. Most humans leave behind scars and garbage.”

“What if we told people?” Cindy offered. “What if we got others to care?”

Marigold shrugged. “It’s a start. But I’ve been around long enough not to get my hopes up.”

With that, he huffed and disappeared back into the tree.

“Don’t mind him,” Petunia said with a chuckle. “He’s always cranky when he’s sleepy. But it would help if you told others. Trees and forests need more guardians.”

“We will!” both girls said eagerly.

“So…who is the Green Lady?” Mary Lou asked. “And how old is Marigold?”

“He’s a thousand years old,” Petunia said matter-of-factly.

“A thousand!?” Cindy gasped.

“Fairies live differently,” Petunia said with a wink. “And the Green Lady? She’s the guardian of all forests. No one knows how old she is. She’s always been.”

“I wish I could be a fairy,” Mary Lou said with a dreamy sigh.

A little wren landed beside Petunia and chirped a cheerful tune. Petunia stroked its tiny head. “Maybe I’ll send Midgie here to wake you up in the mornings,” she said, whispering something into the bird’s ear.

The wren turned her head, chirped once at the girls, then took off into the trees.

“She said she’ll come wake you each morning. Now, the best way to help is not to become a fairy, but to act like one. Protect the trees. Share the stories. Be kind to the earth.”

“We will!” they promised.

“Can we come visit you again?” Cindy asked.

“If you can find me,” Petunia giggled. With a flutter of her wings, she lifted into the air.

Golden glitter shimmered in her wake, drifting to the ground like dew kissed by sunlight. Cindy and Mary Lou watched the trail gleam like spun starlight, their eyes wide with wonder.

They knew now how to find the fairies—just follow the sparkle in the early morning light.