At Dawn by Joy D Matthews

by Joy D Matthews

Witten in class in response to a prompt in the Writing Lesson Plan: Night and Day

If you want to see them, you must be prepared to be up and about just before dawn. If you wait until the first rays pierce the clouds, it will be too late. All evidence will have melted away. You see, the timing has to be just right. I've only managed it three or four times in my lifetime. But it's worth the wait.

There must be dew on the grass. There must be buttercups and daisies sprinkled in small colourful clusters. The narrow path must be barely visible. There must be a noticeable pause in nature itself.

The birds cease their twittering, the bees remain still, their soft bodies settle gently within a foxglove bell.

This is what waiting means, a stillness, a quietness, an awareness of something that will happen. Nature suspends its usual hustle and bustle. The breeze waits in the leaves of the trees. On the ground, the lines of insects are still. There is an unexplained anticipation of magic in the air.

Few are able to hear the approach of tiny green shod feet. If a human passes by, a miniature earthquake shakes the surrounding foliage. Nature waits until the grasses cease to tremble before allowing the stillness to return. There is a feeling of expectancy and then, if you are lucky, you will see them. The fairies passing by.