Oh to be there.
A fortnight’s holiday turning into a month. Father busy in the city and Mother happy with her easel. Makes sense, an entire back bedroom for a studio instead of that tiny closet with a window in Prague.
Time to run through the fields and look for elves and fairies in the woods. Fairy circles, too. Both brothers saying fairies only live on clouds but no. Everyone with wings in fairy tale books living in a wreath of flowers in the grass. How it must be no matter what older people think.
Beds so tall they have stairs to get in at least in the old nursery. Very small the children must have been though not as small as fairies. The beds not wide enough for spread out wings so that they cannot have been, but almost.
Smaller than everyone last year at school. But fun being able to get into little places to explore. Cupboards with old paints and closets with ancient coats for dress up. Doll tea sets with cups and saucers small enough for the littlest baby doll in the world along with two teapots.
The back cupboard opened up and something poking one’s back. Getting out inch by inch and shaking what looked to be a century’s worth of dust off. An old picture. A little girl with a pink hair bow and ties on her shoulders.
No way to know. Everyone lost in one war or another and in who knows how many ways. Now, then and forever as far as anyone can see. But happy she looks with her own Mama and fairy circles to find . . . nothing more but all one needs. . .