Jellybeans for the berry fairies
An urgent message from the berry fairies: Be nice to your sister and bring jellybeans please.
Out in the country where the clouds are white and puffy in the middle of bright yellow canola fields and up on a green hill sits a farm. This farm has proud roaming roosters, fence-jumping goats, flower-eating bunnies and a green talking parrot.
Next to the farm’s duck pond and dreaming alpaca is a rainwater sluice where cold water bubbles from a tall tower down long wooden spouts to a sloping trough filled with sandy rough. Watch closely as a teeny somebody with soaking wet wings slides down at breakneck speed – he dives under, swims along the bottom and comes up with a gemstone pebble from under the sand.
On his way back to the patch, he detours past the fudge stoop, swoops down and pockets the sweet bean-shaped candy left by a really nice kid who hides and giggles around the corner.
A little further down this magical farm is a strawberry patch where a twinkling pink-cheeked fairy sets her thread-spool table with biscuits and whipped cream and two thimbles of sweet iced mint tea.
She lifts a round leaf of the green shady canopy for a fuzzy caterpillar named Kittikins who turns twice and falls asleep in the beam. The little fairy dances her broom around a shiny swirling patio of colourful pebbles as she waits for her brother.
He lands too fast and soaking wet. “You’re late” she says.
“I’m thirsty,” he says to the tea. “I brought you something,” to his sister and hands her a shiny woven bag with silver stars tied up with a ribbon.
She unties the bag with care and pulls out a polished see-through purple stone – and despite the August heat, the rock feels cool like smooth running water. “Where should we put it?” she asks. “Maybe by the tiger’s eye?” she answers herself.
”I think so,” says the boy through a mouthful of whipped cream – and grabs a teaspoon-spade to dig. They place the stone into the galaxy pin-curl pattern, pack it with mud and sit back to admire.
“Thanks.” she says, sipping her tea with satisfaction. “What else did you find?”
“You mean this?” He extracts a now slightly pocket-fuzzy root beer jellybean and takes a noisy chomp. “I found it by the fudge shoppe where he always leaves it.”
“I just love that jellybean kid. He’s a good one. There should be more like that one.” She picks up her old silver harmonica and plays a soft honeysweet tune.
And they sit there together for a long time, cheerfully munching in complete agreement, in the cool shade of the strawberry patch on a magical farm on top of a long green hill in the middle of golden fields under a happy sun.
Image by Corrie Godfrey, graphic artist and mom to two of her own daredevil slip-slider, sparkly pebble collector, jellybean muncher, pink-cheeked pixies.
