On the last night of April, fairies were frolicking in the garden. They flew from one end of a small fenced garden to the other end, swapping places, chasing each other in the warm moist night air. A jet of a strawberry ale suddenly shot up, and fell around, fizzing odorous bubbles into the dark air. The fairies have started singing. The cicadas have taken over. The frogs boomed out
in bass. The stars emerged brightly on a black, as a velvet, sky. The moon hung close to the ground, huge and captivating, like a gigantic questioning eye,- never sleeping and always watching after everything, that is happening in front of it. The flour, thrown by a quick hand, flew up as white dust in the air, settling down on the fairies. They shook off the green transparent wings, and applauded, standing in the air, like little helicopters, laughing and sending felicitations to everyone - everyone this night! The night's scent was of grass and flowers, rain and bark, wind and shine of the little wings...
A wet toad has croaked, a glittering snake crawled through. A huge horned beetle appeared on the tree trunk, the king of beetles himself, the king of the jesters in the kingdom of fairies. The bonfire next to the tree roots, burning red and hot, was letting sparks and ashes into the air, and that spark dance was picked up by the fairies. Pixies filled the garden air, flashing and rustling, ringing and laughing. All these sparks and spots of light ascended up into the very sky, over a huge four- barreled ash- tree, and flew up with the wind, whispering and ringing of invisible bells, into the warmth of a summer night.
The blessing was given and received.
In less than a year, the ash-tree started falling apart. Its branches broke off of the trunk, fell down with a whistle and howl, and stuck their thick, heavy ends into the ground. And so they remained standing, like individual trees, horrifying the rare passer- byers.