Fairy’s Palliative for an Irritable Elf.

Have fresh, cool linens on his bed, sun dried and crisp.
Commiserate with him on his beastly luck.
Don’t point out to him that the winds are perfect for flying.
Don’t ask him to plunge the kitchen sink.
Leave a note and go for a walk in the garden. Ignore the gopher mounds.

The condensation is heavy these cool foggy mornings, the ground is soft and not muddy, just right for weeding.

The pixie comes home from school with nothing to do, but she will keep him outside until sundown.

“Boy,” Fairy proposes hastily before he broaches some plan of his own, “if you’ll get Joey and Gus and weed the garden this afternoon, I’ll take all of you to Roccos for pizza. But you must be diligent and see that they pull up the roots and not just the tops.”

The pixie considers.

“Gus is a lazy lizard. I’ll get Eamon and William. Can we have garlic balls?”

You bring down to the garden your collection of bills pending and settle where you can keep an eye on your workmen.

It’s difficult to be both a good gardener and a good mother. Either the flowers or the children are apt to run wild.

To Elf,

My Darling Elf,


I hope you sleep well today and dream of the stars in you.
I hope that they sing you a lullaby and bring you joy,
let them burn away  all the dust that covers your heart.

I could stir the winds for you like a great storm brewing,
but I want you to sleep

so I hope you go
where the man on the moon goes
when he has finished his nightshift

To sit idle and eat well and close your heavy head:
stay where the stars tuck you in and dream.

With love and kisses,


Your Fairy.

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