It was chilly enough to warrant a bon fire. They invited their friends to come. Fairy filled the vases of the house with the bulbs of the season, grape hyacinths, daffodils, jonquils and ranunculus. A delicate pot of Lily of the Valley looked lovely between the wood bowls of mulled wine at one end of the candlelit table and her chocolate fondue pot on the other. The children descended upon the basket of enormous strawberries placed there for dipping like pirates on a treasure chest. Elf makes his coq au vin with three plump kosher chickens from Trader Joes. He has been baking them in olive oil, caramelized onions, and red wine with fifteen whole cloves of garlic and a pound of Portobello mushrooms a coupé rudement in a moderate oven for hours. He was out in the garden taking cuttings for his bouquet garne when the guests begin to arrive. He has been weeding all day and planting the bare root plums. After fifty, a man is either a drunkard or a gardener. An old French proverb. Three loquacious fairies sitting in the garden chairs around the roaring fire felt some pity for poor Princess Thunderthighs. What shrewish gossips held court in Topanga coffee shops! Could she help leaving those slimy tracks when climbing out of her scum covered pond? Was her greenish hue something she could change? The magician had got her to wear her hair just like the short shaggy gamine look the fairy had worn. He’d bought her a shirt exactly the same as the one fairy had loved. But these feeble attempts of fine finishing were fruitless. Her ways were still so loud and vulgar, her laughs a course croak. She was and always would be a bullfrog. As much as he longed for his Pygmalion, it was quite clear to the wags that she would never become a fair lady. And yet they all agreed she was good for him. A bullfrog was exactly what he needed in his life! Who else would have helped him get his life up and running? Before her, all he had ever known was the amateur magic left over from his college days. For years, since his wife divorced him, he’d been living off of a trust with no ideas of professionalism or responsibility. His wife paid for everything the children needed. His grandmother bought his clothes. As the troll pointed out, his studio was in a converted garage competing for space with the washing machine and dryer amid empty bottles and cans waiting to go to be counted up at the recycling vendor. Who else could have sobered him up? Who else would have wanted him? He was lucky to have her. And what are a few slimy tracks on your sheets or on the piano when you have someone who can pay their own way? Princess Thunderthighs was definitely someone with enterprise and energy and invaluable connections and in light of their latest internet evil, obviously shared his shady moral compass. Who else would have helped him so convivially with his attention-seeking charity stunts? It was a perfect match. So why couldn’t they just go back to their stagnant pond and leave Fairy and Elf alone? So why the flame jobs, and why the hang up calls? Why the random emails? Why the lurking beneath their tree? Why the lies and games? Why be a cowardly troll when one could become a real magician? None of it made sense. When the guests left and the children were sound asleep, elf heated up her lavender warmer and put them on his fairy’s feet. She felt loved and safe.
	Things for a mortal to do once the storm has passed: Make a lattice for the sweet peas. Put some bone meal on the perennial border and cultivate it. Spray the delphinium shoots with Bordeaux. Finish pruning the bush roses. Buy a new pair of gardening shears and find a hiding place for them. With this in your mind, you may go to the market to make gingerbread on parade for afternoon tea. You drain the juice from one can of mixed fruits and put the fruits in a well-buttered baking pan. Mix and sift two cups of flour, one teaspoon ginger, a quarter cup of sugar, a quarter teaspoon of cinnamon, three quarters of a teaspoon of baking soda. Add a quarter cup of shortening, one cup of molasses or golden syrup, one egg and half a cup of sour milk which you will stir until smooth. Pour the mixture over the fruit and bake in a slow oven. Serve cut into squares and covered with whipped cream. If the sun comes out in the late afternoon, take a walk into Red Rock, but avoid the urge to go in the creek. Even the fairies cannot bathe for weeks after a rain. The frogs are not sure they want to stay. The humans do love their grey water.