ONE IRISH GENE

My fingers worked the moist garden soil, sans gloves—I’d put them aside, being too constrictive. Something close to pure contentment filled my psyche as the sun warmed my backside. The day, off to a glorious start, came to a sudden stop when I saw a quick movement to my left—a streak of white. What in the world, streaked through my curiosity as I leaned over to get a closer look at my imagination in action? I always hoped to find fairies dancing under and among my flowers … actually, an Irish gene or two expected to find those fairies. Would today be that day?
The movement continued, but now, up on my knees I watched it intently, a dancing movement between the verbena and cosmos I’d just planted. I pulled the flowers back into an opening and peeked in. Sure enough, it did look like a fairy—a white angelic fairy with hair so pale it appeared white as well. My breath, stolen for the moment, slowly escaped, in hopes of not chasing this dreamy apparition away. Was it a dream?
I pinched myself for assurance—it was not a dream. The white fairy-like creature half flew, half danced her way among the flowers. She lit on a beautiful lavender bush, plucking a small flower to put behind an ear. In a trance by now, all I could do was watch in wonderment as this small puff of white danced by me, looking into my eyes. I’m sure I blinked, and I’m sure I saw the hint of a smile. With a quick pirouette, she fluttered out of the garden and headed toward the backyard. I followed her … wouldn’t you? I saw a graceful, gentle flight, much like the seed head of a dandelion caught up in a gentle breeze.
I marveled at the precise landing she chose near the garden shed, on a morning glory vine. Again, I pinched myself—I had to be dreaming, there was no logical explanation, only the delight of my possible one Irish gene.
At that moment, the family cat, Duchess, appeared. Fascinated by the slow swirls of my white fairy, I found it difficult to watch both fairy and cat. I could never forgive myself if Duchess leapt into the air and gulped down the wonder of all this, and called her to me. Together, fascinated, we both watched until the breeze lifted the white fairy up into the air and into the neighbor’s yard. I ran to the fence, leaving Duchess to wonder if I’d gone mad, and peered into my neighbor’s yard. I was just in time to see a small puff of white loose itself in the breeze as it passed yet another neighbor’s Mimosa tree. A childlike sadness caught in my throat—I wanted to yell, “wait, … wait for me,” but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to do, certainly not go back to the soil and dig around—nor stand there with my mouth gaping open. I went into the house, followed by Duchess, and poured myself a cup of Earl Grey tea and returned to my backyard to sit and watch. Maybe, just maybe, she would sail back in on another breeze.