As I came into the yard, I caught three little nymphs dancing under a tree. It was a balmy 80 degrees instead of the usual winter fare, and fairy costumes were the requisite uniform to relish the balmy weather. After a busy afternoon spent pushing dolls in strollers, clacking on the pavement in their plastic Barbie shoes, and painting the driveway a rainbow of colored chalk, they celebrated the day.
The setting sun brought an indigo sky more typical of August than mid-February, and their pink gauzy skirts caught the breeze as they twirled, each fairy carrying her own very distinct rhythm. The boom box bellowed “Big Girls Don’t Cry”, their little voices gleefully sabotaging whatever words The Duchess had written. And I was so grateful we’d been too busy to take down the holiday lights, their glow adding to the already magical night.
At that moment, all seemed right with the world.
In the time it took to grab the camera, two little fairies had grown shy leaving the tiniest dancer to proudly close the show.
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