The moon in Topanga’s fairyland

Sleep is far away. The waxing moon has crept under the browning pine and glows directly onto the bed. Fairy steps into her slippers and goes down the stairs to find her Elf out under the jasmine in his pajamas peering intently into his telescope. “Beetles.” He grumbles, and then blows his nose loudly, but they both know nothing can be done. He will remove the poor tree tomorrow.

She will make a Vitamin C Fizz to soothe their colds. She takes a lemon and an orange from her garden and squeezes the juice. Elf adds the gin.

“Let’s go sit in the peach blossoms.” It is heaven there. A sweet heavy perfume rises with the breeze. Hiding behind the olive tree, the moon makes an eerie, unbelievably beautiful world of ebony and silver. The doves coo a lullaby.

“That’s the way it is,” whispers Elf, “a few moments of magic and long stretches of the same old thing.”

“Do you mind this same old thing?” Asks Fairy.

“No,” he answers, and she can hardly speak for the fluttering of her wings.