THE ORDINARY PROJECT
The Garden Where Fairies Live
“Magic has always been rather shy around adults.”
It was a very ordinary front garden.
At least, that is what the grown-ups believed.
They saw flower beds that needed watering, pinwheels pushed into the soil, and little hummingbirds that never truly flapped their wings. They admired them politely before carrying on with whatever important things grown-ups carry on with.
She knew better.
The garden only looked ordinary because it was careful.
Magic has always been rather shy around adults.
The hummingbirds were the first to wake each morning.
They stretched their painted wings and hovered just long enough to make certain no one was watching before darting from flower to flower, delivering tiny messages far too important for pockets.
The pinwheels were different. They never flew anywhere. Instead, they whispered to the wind. Whenever they spun, they invited all the invisible things to come closer. Fairies, butterflies who had forgotten they were butterflies, ladybugs with remarkable stories, and the occasional wandering wish all knew what a turning pinwheel meant. It meant they were welcome.
It meant they were welcome.
She wandered carefully between the flowers, stopping whenever something felt almost noticeable.
A tiny shadow.
A sparkle that disappeared before she could point to it.
Leaves that giggled when there wasn't enough breeze to move them.
She learned very quickly that magic dislikes chasing.
It much prefers waiting.
So she waited.
And long after the hummingbirds had settled, the pinwheels had grown still, and the fairies had tucked themselves beneath the flowers for the evening, I found myself thinking that perhaps childhood isn't about pretending at all.
Perhaps it is simply remembering that the world has always been a little more magical than adults allow themselves to notice.
A Few Things I Remember
Along the Way
The balloon squeaked every time the wind caught it.
He spent almost as much time studying it as he did chasing it.
The strawberries stained exactly one clean white shirt.
No one minded.
The balloon lasted less than an hour. Childhood, thankfully, lingers a little longer.
I hope it still visits from time to time.
YOUR TURN
Every Story Begins Somewhere.
This one began with a little red balloon.
The next might begin with rain boots, pancakes, a favorite stuffed animal, an old pickup truck, or the way your daughter insists on wearing fairy wings to the grocery store.
It doesn't have to be extraordinary.
Because the ordinary was never ordinary.
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Turn The Page
Every ordinary day holds another story.
