Back when I was a dreamy-eyed teenager, I would pass by a smallish grassland area on my way to school every day. It’s not very big, maybe about the size of one Olympic swimming pool. In the pre-dawn hours, the field would be misty with morning dew. Like someone draped very fine white silk over the grass.
And I often imagined that if fairies wanted to come out and play, they would choose that little patch of grassland. It felt magical, and befitting of fairies. I can almost see them fluttering and dancing and frolicking in their pale, pastel dresses.
I still dream of finding fairies there. Just the other day, when the bus I was on drove past the little field, I found myself automatically straining to detect any signs of the magical creatures. Except that the little grassland area is no more. In its place, a tractor, a number of pipes, and lots of scaffolding.
Sigh, I suppose the fairies will have to find another dew-soaked field to play in.