Perhaps war is a strong word for the windy, dusty, little fairies that twist around the corner of our house and wrap around my saplings looking for trouble in paradise. I can almost hear the sound of laughter or is miniature weaponry changing the frequency into a gently slashing hiss? Uninvited, these are the naughty ones perhaps bouncing from heaven maybe even tossed intentionally into our garden.
Maybe they were angels once and now that summer is here, they will redeem themselves by mellowing out and offering up wildflowers as penance. Do you think good angels are battling these sprites? Whatever it is that floats wildly into the afternoon yard dissipates by twilight. It’s as if they crawl into bed, pull up the covers and prepare to dream of victory while slumbering under the stars.