The Pixie

In The Garden

The Pixie's Tale

The angel and the gardener stood smiling as they watched the pixie - her cheery chatter seemed to brighten the garden and her happiness was contagious. They nodded to each other - yes, her heartfelt wisdom was a good balance to the garden. There had been times when the angel had doubted the pixie would make it, had thought for sure the garden would crush her light - but each time she raised concerns the gardener would smile and say "She will work it out." Looking back she realized the gardener had been right again.

She had slipped into the garden quietly enough, sat and watched, listened for a fair while. Sometimes in tears, sometimes bubbling with smiles, but the garden knew - she had found the garden because of a pain and loss she carried deep with-in. She had found the garden while looking for a place to find peace from her loss, looking also for a place where she would be accepted - even if she did not see this. She sought a refuge from a world that did not understand her and because it did not, chose to hurt her to try to control her.

The plant drew her into the inner circle of the garden offering her a sense of belonging, accepting her as she was while encouraging her to discover who she might be. To those in the inner circle she quickly became a little sister - one to protect and to try to make smile. In the garden she was one visitors could turn to for comfort - her bubbly kindness a source of comfort. Some others began to sense also other strengths within the pixie - gifts she was not aware of. The halfling had turned to the plant - "This one has special gifts though she is unaware. As her gifts blossom she will need others to hold to and let her know it is alright and to guide her." The plant agreed to watch and help and the halfling took the pixie under her wing, soon holding her as a little sister.

There were times the angel had been worried - had asked the gardener to intercede, always he shook his head and said no, "The garden will weave it's magic for the little one". Sometimes it seemed a cross word or words poorly formed and spoken too quickly cut so deep the angel wondered if the pixie could recover. Sometimes the pixie herself had erred and while none in the small garden thought badly when this had happened she had tremble so hard in fear and the angel had wondered if she would survive. Each time the gardener had reassured the angel that she should trust the garden. And each time the pixie weathered her personal storms she grown a bit stronger.

As time progressed the pixie began to flourish and grow - a little sister to some, to be protected and guided - but now also a big sister to newer arrivals to the garden, to be looked to for comfort and guidance. She continued to be turn to the plant and the halfling often really only needing reassurance. As is the nature of the pixie folks she continued to be easily bruised by seeming small bumps, but all in the garden were tender - this was what drew them together. The garden was a healing place, those in the garden were all at different places with healing - and all understood that - and helped each other. Some healed and moved out into the larger garden in time - but a few stayed to help newcomers find their way. The pixie was still healing when she began reaching out to help newcomers. And when the storms came and seemed to wash away all she cared for she found that the same people she had reached out to help were now there for her.

The plant and halfling watched over the pixie also - there was something there - something they saw even if the pixie did not. When the pixie had trembled with the chill of fear the plant had wrapped her in it's soft leaves until she felt warm again - when she was open to the idea, it had parted it's leaves to reveal new views to her to encourage her to grow. When doubts washed over the pixie the halfling had held her hand and let her know she was wanted - loved. During all this the gardener had watched, and he had smiled and been pleased - all was unfolding as he had intended.

This is the magic of the small garden - not the large things - not who stands out - not who is greatest - not how long some have stayed - these are because of the magic. The magic of the small garden is the little things - the things that link us one to the other.


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