[locked to Ariel] backdated to July 9
Anne took a well-earned break from the garden, after planting an border of red and blue flowers as well as transplanting some cuttings from the main kitchen garden, and lay down on her back on her grass, looking up through the treetops at the blue, blue sky.
If one imagined hard enough, one could picture the sorts of things that went on in those treetops, far above where any of them could ever hope to visit. It was clearly the place where all the magical creatures hid when they vanished from sight on the ground, all those fairies and sprites that Anne had always dreamt of seeing but never quite had, even out of the corner of her eye. She could just see them cavorting up there on the treetops, dizzyingly quick and blithely carefree.
It was the sort of life that could only be lived in an active imagination, and for all the trouble it had brought her Anne would never, not ever, be sorry she had one. She rested one hand on her belly and imagined all the stories she would one day be telling their child.
If one imagined hard enough, one could picture the sorts of things that went on in those treetops, far above where any of them could ever hope to visit. It was clearly the place where all the magical creatures hid when they vanished from sight on the ground, all those fairies and sprites that Anne had always dreamt of seeing but never quite had, even out of the corner of her eye. She could just see them cavorting up there on the treetops, dizzyingly quick and blithely carefree.
It was the sort of life that could only be lived in an active imagination, and for all the trouble it had brought her Anne would never, not ever, be sorry she had one. She rested one hand on her belly and imagined all the stories she would one day be telling their child.