As a child I lived in a tropical country, there were amazing storms with lightening, thunder and torrential rain. When the rain passed the streets had lovely streams of water flowing on either side, carving paths in the mud and ditches, twigs and leaves drifting along. In the garden the flower beds would have pools of water and the hedging along the perimeter would be flooded. We would build little fairy towns on the banks of the newly created ‘rivers’, the only limit to what could exist was our imagination. Little rock houses with sticks for trees, mud roads built by our fingers, the traditional boat made with a large leaf, a small leaf for a sail, a twig for the mast.
Now I live where it’s cold and snowy, and yet, in the middle of winter when a certain weather pattern comes in and the snow melts, those same streams of water will cascade along the side of the road. Carving paths in the snow and gravel, sparkling in the sun, small twigs and leaves drifting in the current.
And I remember the fun and the lovely, lovely mud squishing under our toes and fingers as we built fairy empires.
And you know what, yeah, I might be a grown up now, but there are fairies at the bottom of my garden, and I’m building them a house. A little wooden house with a pretty front door and a path lined with pebbles.
When it warms up again.