I fell across this glorious image on Pixabay (where I get all my images from) and had to use it. It has such atmosphere.
Tansy hadn’t expected to be allowed along. It was her father’s night, with his two brothers. A tradition that started in the mists of time – that ill-defined period before Tansy came into the world – these evenings were held dear by the musicians of the family.
According to her father, he had first been invited to attend with his father and grandfather when he was considered competent enough on the guitar. Since then, he had taken over the role of piano player from Great-uncle Jeffrey, whose old fingers still worked magic from an ancient accordion. Uncle Louis soulfully played guitar.
‘You can come along, Tansy,’ Father had said. ‘We have an idea which we think you’ll be perfect for.’
So here was Tansy, sitting this summer evening on a sparsely-grassed sandy meadow under the light of a glaucous moon. The lighthouse on the headland added its sharp white rays to cast the whole scene in sunset-like shadows.
Father took his place at the piano at the brow of the dune and played his serenade to the moon, the clouds and sea. Behind him, Tansy’s uncles squeezed and plucked, the melodious whole augmented by the high cries of a seagull perched on a weathered post.
And the role Tansy was perfect for? Well, the brothers planned on a trip to London to do a little busking, and Tansy was in training to be the money collector. Sticking her hand out and smiling prettily, she couldn’t wait for this new adventure, nor could she have been prouder of her new vocation.
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The meadow was in full bloom, yellow daisies everywhere young Selina looked.
Skipping through the coloured carpet, warm sun shining from an azure sky, she felt at peace and ready for any adventure that might befall her.
Selina felt so privileged to live in a home that backed onto such a rich tapestry and each summer day she couldn’t wait to bask in its glory.
“I wonder what will happen today?” she thought, as she bounced through the long grass, the scent of flowers strong in her nostrils.
She imagined fairies winging their way among the flowers, flying high into the blue atmosphere before swooping to weave their magic on the compliant greenery.
“Ah, if only I was Tinkerbell,” she mused out loud. “I could follow Peter Pan on the best adventures!”
The sun moved higher in the sky, its strong rays bathing everything in its warmth and Selina found relief in the shade of the large oak trees bordering the meadow.
She stopped to take a sip from her water bottle, when suddenly she heard the sound of voices singing a simple love song.
The wind playing tricks? A serenade to the sun?
Not sure, Selina peeped around the corner of the oak tree and spied several fairies, one playing a small flute, flitting among the trees.
She laughed as she watched them ascend to the treetops before landing lightly on a branch to continue their performance.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, her tiny hand covering her mouth.
Selina moved from the shadow of the tree.
“Can I please join in?” she asked as the fairies looked around, somewhat startled.
One extended a hand and Selina felt herself floating to alight on the branch next to them.
Surely a heavenly chorus, she thought, as their voices lifted to the skies.
A charming scene and equally charming story!!