Midsummer Eve

She knows something we don't.  Something was there, is there.  She crouches by the chain-link fence and barks with determination at my bed of daylilies which lie sheltered under a sumac tree.

Her owner shoos her away but she returns immediately to continue her determined barking.

We've been through this before, just yesterday and the day before - the same persistent barking at the bed of lilies.  I showed her then, and I show her again.

I reach my hand down to brush aside the bladed leaves.  I know there is nothing there, yet my breath is tight with fear of jumping toads, slithering snakes, and scurrying mice.

"Look, Libby," I say as I move aside the leaves, "There's nothing there. See?"

And there is nothing there. Nothing. There are no toads nor snakes nor birds nor mice. There are no cats, no squirrels, no rabbits nor raccoon.  There are no critters what-so-ever, large or small, dead or alive.  There is just lilies and soil, soil and lilies. Yet she continues to bark until finally her frustrated owner takes her inside.

I think she sees something I don't see, senses something I can't sense.  I sit on my back porch with a glass of Beaujolais and I ponder the possibilities as I savour my favourite time of day - the blue hour. I watch as the twilight deepens and stars appear in the velvety ink. Fireflies alight and flit across the garden as the dewy evening air draws forth the fragrance of honeysuckle and rose.

It is a magical evening, ripe with potential. My mind fills with possibilities and my imagination flows from the ordinary to the extraordinary until I am without a doubt certain that I have solved the mystery.  I have fairies in my flower bed!

Midsummer Eve by Edward Robert Hughes