On our way to the park on Sunday morning, it started to rain. It’s been very hot and very dry here for a very long time. Record-breakingly long, in fact. So even though it was a bit grey when we left to walk the three blocks to the park, I didn’t think about rain. I haven’t had to think about rain since June!
Three blocks is a very long way when you’re 22 months old or four-years-old and distracted by bugs and cats and twigs and birds and trucks and every blessed bit of fresh sparkly morning goodness, and so it was midway on our looooong three-block walk when the thunder began to rumble. We carried on anyway, because we’re West Coasters and that’s what we do. All things, despite the rain.
But by the time we actually made it to the park, it was raining in ernest. We met our friends in the otherwise deserted playground, where Hawk and his little buddy wandered around the big tree grinning at each other, while Esmé ducked into the little fairy house. When she came out, she had a manilla envelope in hand. She knows to check for needles and condoms and broken glass, but I’ve never told her to look out for random mail.
For You, it said, with heart stickers on either side.
“Look, Mama!” Esmé ran over with the envelope. ”What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I took it from her, not wanting her to open it … just in case. ”Let’s have a look.”
The first thing to fall out was a wee baggie full of purple glitter and dried flower petals. Looked harmless enough, considering what usually comes in small zip-loc baggies in our neighbourhood. Then I pulled out a note.
It was from The Glitterati Society; self-described as “a collection of curious creatures who every moon cycle go out into the world and stir up a little magic.” It was an invitation to “go forth and glitter,” to join in the magical mayhem by doing things that will “fill someone else else with a sense of delight & wonder,” with suggestions to do things like go to a hotel, pick a floor and hang a charm on every door. Or scatter flower petals at a train station. Or leave words on stones in public areas for people to make poetry.
This random act of magic could not have found a better recipient.
Just the night before, Esmé had left out a glass of iced tea for the fairies who live in her fairy bower. And they drank it. Not only that but they washed their own drinking gourds! Very polite fairies in our house, indeed. Esmé made the bower over a couple of months at the Lyceum, and it sits proudly in her room, where every once and a while the fairies leave a note or bring something to sparkle up their not-so-humble abode.
Esmé will most certainly go forth and glitter. She’s already thinking about what to do come the next full moon, and is counting down the days.
Thank you to the magical stranger who brightened our stormy morning! After she found the note, the skies opened up and it poured, with the rare percussion of thunder whipping up way more excitement than the average Vancouver rain shower. We played in it for a while, until we were soaked to the bone and our feet squeaked in our sodden Crocs. We dashed home with the bag of glitter and note in hand, wondering who might have left it, and marvelling at how perfect it is that Esmé was the one to find it. She’s a very scientific kid, but she has a strong streak of whimsy too.
She’s equal parts fact and fancy, for a total sum of awesomeness.