The jig is long practised, the steps well known.
The routine the same as always.
The partners, at times friends, at times not, take their marked places
And the dance begins.

Fantasy and Dreams nod politely to Reality and Reason. Never an easy pairing.
Dreams take flight with Reason the anchor.
Fantasy must soar, ever higher, ever farther from reach. Reality speaks in reasoning tones to curtail the flight of fancy.
Each leads the dance for a fraction of time.

Dreams step aside in anger as Reason sees no possibilities.
Reality forgets that anything can happen
Fantasy and imagination are squashed. The dance ends.
Partners at odds.

Reality partners with Dreams and careful steps attempted.
Fantasy steps out on the floor with Reason with only small spats about leading.
Imagination carefully peeks to see if these couples can manage.
Although a compromise is the only solution, they suit each other well.

Dreams must lead and Reality follows and helps to sort the endless nuances of the dance. Fantasy is entranced with the new steps as Reason attempts to follow and curtail only the totally ridiculous.
Lo and behold – it works!

I am sleepy, the little boy announces, to no one in particular.
There is no worry in his tone, in his voice. Just a statement of fact.
Take it or leave it – just like that.

He made his way to bed with the help of his sister. She patted his head and as he crawled into bed, she said nighty, night my sweet. Sweet dreams.

He lay down with the covers pulled right up to his chin. He grinned.
Thanks Sis and to you.

My simple wish for you is that your sleep is undisturbed and that your dreams are sweet.
Goodnight.

My pen is a shadow
on the wall
Scribbling frantically
Lest the thought be lost.

My pen dances in the flickering light
The candles cast in the dimly lit room
My thoughts skip and jump in my mind’s eye
Chasing my pen across the paper.

My thoughts race through my mind
Behind the windows of my eyes
The curtains to my mind shut
As night falls and sleep beckons.

I am sitting in my magical garden. It is my secret place.
The sun has slipped beneath the horizon.
The colours changed from dazzling red and then soft pink to the deep blue hues of night.
The candles in my garden are now aglow, flickering on the very faint, almost indiscernible, breeze.
Everything in the foreground is still. Nothing is stirring. The chatter of conversation from the garden 5 doors down has fallen quiet. The participants having sought the indoors.

I sit, still, in the stillness. The sounds of distant traffic is drawn closer by the quiet of the night. The candles cast their shadows. The pixies and fairies will soon be out. Ready to dance by the candlelight. If you believe in such creatures.
A goose makes his presence known with a single honk, and an earwig has found its way on to my journal. The earwig is relegated to the ground.

I am an observer, unobserved in the cloak of night.
A child is not happy being tucked into bed, too early, for him. A woman coughs. A radio is playing a tune ever so softly a few doors down. Windows stand open letting reflections of life spill out. The heat of the day has permitted this. It is cooling now, soon the sounds will cease as the cool air necessitates the closing of windows.
The traffic drones on unabated. A creature, a cat perhaps, is rustling in my hedge. I shine my flashlight in its direction and silence ensues. My roses are blood red in the light of the night. A door is shut.
All is quiet now.

The damp of the night is falling now. Even as I sit under my parasol, I can feel it descend. The traffic continues, not so intense. The candles on the terrace cast light enough in my garden that my sunlounger is visible, only just. Quite alone out there at the edge of the light. Uninhabited in the dark.
The lights in the windows around me shut off, one by one. A work day ahead for many. It is Sunday.
I sit in the silence in my magical place. I can sit all night if I so choose. No work tomorrow for me, just play.

The air is cooler now and I gather my sweater closer. A blanket might soon be in order, to keep the chill air at bay. It is late. The witching hour approaches.
A faint feeling of contentment is falling over me. The comforting ambience or the wine the source? Here and now, it doesn’t really matter. The feeling is rare and welcome. I wasn’t quite sure but yes, a feeling of quiet contentment is present.
I search the night sky for stars and there are a few. No shooting ones yet sighted. I have a wish ready though should one happen to fly across the night sky.

The witching hour is upon me. A few minutes past actually. I just looked up at the windows in my neighbour’s house and the moon is reflected in the one to the right. There are two moons!! Must be the window cheating my sight. A beautiful full, round moon reflects back at me, with a halo around it and a cloud shrouding the left side, just a bit. Wonderful moon it is. Full and cheeky.
The moonlight has reached my garden. It is moving quickly as it has reached the window on the left. The garden is now divided in two. One side moonlit. One side not. The trees cast shadows at night.
I have seen no witch nor had a visit by the fairies. I’m a little disappointed. I’d have enjoyed their company. No bewitching on order today. And yet….

I am bewitched I daresay, by the beauty in a flower, by the butterfly floating on the wind, by the toad that calls my garden home despite the four footed guard patrolling the perimeter. I am bewitched by the beauty that nature supplies in the very simplest of things and that beauty is magic in my little garden, my secret hideaway.