The Fairy Glade

“The dog needs a walk.”

It’s funny. We say “the dog needs a walk” but a dog will happily go on as many or as few walks in a day as it is taken for. People, on the other hand, must have an excuse regardless of how deeply they need one.

“Shall I come? I can always finish the packing tomorrow.”

“Oh no, there’s no need.”

“You are alright, aren’t you?” I could not look at my sister’s face. “You don’t have to suffer in silence. Mary wouldn’t want…” Her voice trailed off.

There had been no rain all week, but I grabbed my old Barbour jacket and wellies out of habit. The dog understood and she jumped up at me, throwing me off balance as I crouched down to put on my wellies.

“I’m fine, don’t you worry about me.” My sister helped me back up onto my feet. I picked up a stick and whistle. “I’ll be back for supper.”

Stepping outside I exhaled deeply. My shoulders slumped and I closed my eyes. The weight of the house, her occupants, her former occupants, lifted a fraction. I opened my eyes to see the dog standing expectedly at the gate to the fields and dutifully followed. She always waited for this part. Once in the fields I would lose control of her, but in the garden she would obey my every word.

“Stay.” I opened the gate and stepped through. Her body tensed a fraction. The hills were as unchanged as ever, covered in patchy woodland and verdant fields.

“Go.” She was gone. Darting this way, then that, her nose trailing above the ground for a while, before finding a new trace to follow. To her this walk was just like any other: endlessly exciting, full of new scents and old, a world of wonder for her to explore. I closed the gate.

The fields lay on steep slopes either side of a small stream, which was dug no more than a couple of inches into the dense red soil. The grass in the fields was low and uncultivated; the ground was quite unsuitable for anything besides cattle and hedgerows. I never understood why the cows came and went when they did. I would often adapt the route of our walk, not wishing to come between calf and mother. Today, however, we were free to walk as we pleased. I had seen some in the morning through my bedroom window, but they had since moved on and we found ourselves alone.

I had no planned route and so my feet simply took me along the route they knew best. After passing through a few empty fields, we waded through the stream, ascended the far side, and carried on until we reached a small copse of yew trees planted in a broad circle. All were bedecked in green, barring the nearest one which had been struck by lightning many years ago. It stood as a silhouetted shade, a stranger amongst its siblings.

Sitting at its base, I looked back the way we had come. The fields opened up beneath me, so familiar, yet so unnoticed. The house hid, embarrassed, behind a pair of oak trees, unwilling to meet my gaze. I looked up to the sea in the distance, some miles distant, and the land on the far side. I would never see this sight again and with each passing day it would become ever stranger in my mind.

The sun was still high in the sky. Supper would not be for a couple of hours yet. My eyelids drifted downwards as I listened to the gentle rustling of the wind through the blackcurrant hedgerows and the cooing of doves in the branches above. A poem from my school days echoed through my mind:

“There, like the winds through woods in riot,

Through him the gale of life blew high;

The tree of man was never quiet:

Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.”

The inescapably cruel passage of time can be of great comfort. The countryside cradles us like children, helping us grow, nursing us through life. We come and go, but it remains, patiently awaiting our children, and our children’s children, fulfilling a life debt made eons ago.

It was time to go back. I skirted the edge of the field, following the hedgerow, down towards the stream. As we reached it, the dog’s ears pricked. She stood for a moment, before hurtling up the stream, disappearing amongst the overgrown foliage. I blew the whistle and waited. She did not come.

Ducking under the wire fencing, I beat my way through the undergrowth, following the stream. It twisted and turned as the sides grew ever higher, until I could not see over either side. I stopped and called out once more yet only the stream’s tender murmur rippled around the silence.

Ahead of me lay darkness and it called to me, drawing me in. How long I carried on for, I do not know. The stream grew no smaller, as if nothing fed into it and it had no beginning. I called out again and again, only for no response to be heard or seen. I was on the cusp of turning around when I noticed a light glow peering around the next bend.

Assuming I had finally reached another field I continued, calling out once more as I rounded the turn. Around the corner there was no field, but rather the stream widened into a glade. Whereas before you would have been hard-pressed to walk two-abreast, the banks of the stream unfurled outwards stretching at least thirty yards apart. Despite the width, the foliage still arched over to create a dome, yet, for the first time since entering the undergrowth, dappled sunlight was able to break through. The air was clear and pure.

As I took in the scene, I noticed a small mossy island that split the stream in two. It centred around a small willow tree whose roots scattered out into the stream while her branches drooped down, straining for the water below. In front of this tree there was a smooth rock, glittering in the sunlight. It was on top of this rock that I saw the dog.

She was quite still. I dropped my stick and rushed towards her but, no matter how furiously I ran, I remained as far away as I started.

“You can’t reach her.” A small, winged figure hovered between us. Clothed in a pure white gown with a smooth childlike face, it appeared like a fairy from a night-time story book with bright blue eyes, pale rosy cheeks, and golden curls.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing. It was simply her time.”

“No… No… No…” I fell to my knees. The water started to seep through my jeans and fill my boots. “Not now…”

The fairy looked at me curiously.

“You will join her in the end. You need not worry.”

“I can’t lose her. Not now. Just a few more months, that’s all I ask for.”

“What difference would a few more months make? The pain you feel now will be felt again.”

“I don’t care. I wouldn’t care if it hurt twice as much. I just want to be able to hold her tight, tell her how much she means to me, and never let go. I want to watch her run, see her smile, and have someone to curl up with in front of the fire when it’s raining outside and leave the whole of the world behind. I would give anything to hear the sound of her voice just one more time.”

“And this woman means that much to you?”

I stopped.

I look back on those moments, that scene, and it makes no sense. It could not have happened. None of it could. Yet I will swear to my dying breath that it did.

I looked up at the island. The dog was gone. Instead, I beheld in front of me, sat in that way I had seen a thousand times before, Mary.

My Mary. She hugged her right leg to her chest, her left leg bent on the rock, as her long chestnut hair caressed her cheek. She smiled at me through those kind brown eyes and those thin caring lips. I never thought I would see that smile again.

We sat not saying a word as the stream babbled by. Of all the words I wanted to say, the questions I wanted to ask, the things I wanted to hear, none were uttered. They did not need to be. She was there and I was there with her. The tiny broken shards of my soul sought each other once more.

Captivated as I was, I barely noticed the splashing behind me. Only when she looked past my shoulder did I turn around to see the dog trotting up the stream towards us. I reached out and stroked her behind her ears. She leapt up to lick my face, instead succeeding in knocking me over into the water. As I stumbled back onto my feet, I turned around. We were alone. No Mary, no spirit, no glade.

It is strange how little we need. I felt no anger or rage at her disappearance. Not this time. I followed the dog down the stream and out of the undergrowth. At the entrance, I found my stick. It was laid out on the grass and soaked through.

The sun was low now. We retraced our steps in silence. The dog stayed close by. A rabbit watched us through a clump of long grass. My eyes stared at the ground, idly guiding me around cowpats as my mind waded through all that had happened.

Dusk had fallen by the time we reached the house. As we approached, I saw my sister through the window. I waved and she ran out towards us.

“My God, are you alright? I was so worried.” She hugged me.

“I’m alright.” I squeezed her back. “I’m alright.”