my aunt used to tell me that the flower jars were for the fairies - hundreds of them hung from the great elm tree in the backyard - shining [turquoise], barely-there lime, blushing peach, brilliant violet...
and i remember sitting on the porch swing, my head nestled on aunt emma's shoulder, the hot summer wind gently rocking the creaking swing, and we would wait.
wait, watching for the slightest flutter of wings, the smallest glimmer, anything.
and do you wanna know a secret?
i never stopped believing.