Hidden Things

The best, and sometimes the worst, things are not always immediately obvious to the naked eye. That big oak tree in the back garden, the one you look at every day from the kitchen window, is it really just a tree? Look again. It is indeed a tree, but one that is home to many creatures; birds, bugs, small mammals that nest, sing, creep, crawl and play amongst the branches. The tree likes to hide its age inside the trunk, the trunk you used to try and wrap your arms around as a child. Its girth, like yours, is much wider now.

You remember the perfect acorn you found underneath the tree some years earlier. The one you planted somewhere and, drying your hands, you leave the house to hunt for it. You pause as a squirrel skitters across the path and runs up into the canopy of leaves with great agility. You are briefly envious, but not for long as your focus shifts back to the task in hand. Oops, you almost step on a large beetle heading back to its tree home with a morsel of something tasty.

Venturing out of the shadow cast by the tree's sturdy branches, from one of which hangs an old wooden swing, you carefully descend five roughly hewn steps and enter what you have always called 'The Fairy Garden.' A little sanctuary, where you and your mother before you, have placed various trinkets, ornaments and curiosities over the years. Sinking onto a stone bench, suddenly weary, you close your eyes and connect with your breath. You see a woman from another era, holding the hand of a small, serious child who clasps a stone pot in her other one. Inside the pot is a small tree. The mother takes the pot and the little girl searches until she finds the perfect spot, then together they plant the tree. The fairies come out to watch until the girl claps her hands in excitement and they disappear.

You instinctively know this is the oak that has grown so big, the oak that allows such a diversity of fauna to dwell upon it, the oak that has been a constant presence for your entire life. Opening your eyes, feeling the fairies gentle guidance, you go back up the steps and walk towards the fence line. Two doe eyed cows graze companionably on the other side and trot over to say hello as you approach. Reaching over the fence you stroke their soft heads. They move a little to the right and there it is. A small oak tree, reaching up to your waist. Something shiny glints in the early morning rays and you bend down. It is a tiny mirror made for fairies, with a mosaic frame. You reach into your pocket and remove a china kitten you found on a recent walk and tucked away safely for a rainy day. Placing it under the tree you stand up, knees creaking. As you walk away, you swear you can hear the fairies whispering in the wind.