style="font-size:15px;"> “There’s a new girl in our class, she comes from London!” Sarah commenced with enthusiasm.
“Wow, from the capital city…What a big change! What’s her name?”.
“Alison” I answered ready.
“She has just her mother and she’s a hippie!” Sarah went on. It was always like that with us: we spoke alternating, one turn for me and one for her.
Our granny burst out laughing: ”How do you know she’s a hippie, Sarah?”.
“She told me herself. She is sitting at the desk next to mine. But I don’t know what hippie means…do you know, granny?”.
“Of course! Hippies are the children of the flowers”.
“Children of the flowers?”.
“They used to wear colorful clothes, they loved Nature and they sang “ Put flowers into your cannons! It’s better to love each other than wasting time and energy in useless wars”. To cut it short, they were just like that…What does Alison’s mum do to be a hippie? Have you ever seen her?”.
“She dresses up exactly as you are saying, she’s very beautiful, always smiling, with long blonde hair and she wears a pendant with a glittering white stone”.
“It’s not glittering!” I interrupted her.
“Yes, it is. It looks like a white rainbow!”.
“Rainbows aren’t white” I pinpointed.
“It might be a white Labradorite”. Granny got up from the armchair, she moved to the casket where she kept her stones and took one light stone out of it.
“Exactly, granny. That’s it. Have you got it too?”
“I’ve got plenty…they keep me company and they help me”, she said, keeping turning some of them between her fingers.
“How can they help you? They’re just coloured stones!” I burst out defiantly.
“No, Anne, they aren’t just coloured stones! They are much more and I’ll let you know them, when you grow up a little more. If Alison’s mum doesn’t before me…”.
“What are our plans for the weekend, granny?”.
I already knew actually, it was March, the weather forecast said it would be sunny, so we were going to get the garden ready to receive spring.
Life at our cottage was marked by season changes: we carved pumpkins at Halloween, at Christmas it was a triumph of decorations, with evergreens, cakes and candles…it was absolutely our favourite time of the year! We usually spent most of the time at home around the fireplace in winter, towards March we got the garden ready, at Easter we decorated eggs and we spent the long summer days outside, barefooted; our granny picked up lavender, sage, rosemary and mint in order to dry them and we went back to school in September, but just after we had prepared some jam!
“We’re going to the plant nursery, girls: we’re getting new mould, some nice little plants and some seeds; then we’re going back home and we’re putting the garden in order. Mrs Bray is coming too”.
“The lady who lives next door? Why?”
“You see, Anne, even if she lives just on the other side of the fence and she has got the same sunlight, the same shadow, the same rain and the same ground as I have, she can’t make even a daisy grow in her garden. She’s always hoping I will tell her my secrets!”.
“So why don’t you?”, my sister asked her naively.
“Because I haven’t got any. Flowers and plants are living beings, they stay with whoever they want to and they need to be fed, not only with water and manure…They need energy as well”.
“Electric energy?”
“No, silly girl. The power of our mind. We must think about what we are doing when we plant them, to instil our trust, thankfulness and also our desires into them”.
“Alison’s mum has put a fairy house in her garden. She says they are going to help her to make plants grow”.
“I wish I could know what kind of plants is Alison’s mum growing…”.
“I can ask her, if you wish”.
“No Sarah, it doesn’t matter, thanks”.
“Have you seen them, granny?”.
“What?”.
“Fairies!” my sister exclaimed, as if that was something obvious.
“No, darling, I’ve never seen them”.
“Because they don’t exist!” I claimed lofty.
“Anne, not all we can’t see doesn’t exist. I’ve never seen the Great Wall of China, but I know it exists”.
“Of course! They have taken photos of it, it’s real. Nobody has ever taken photos of fairies instead”, I replied, crossing my arms on my chest.
“Because they don’t want to and they show themselves only to the people they choose”, our granny explained.
“I don’t believe it”, I finished.
“So you’re never going to see them…”.
“I do believe in them instead, granny!”, my sister said.
“I had no doubts about it”, our granny burst out laughing.
“In fact I believe Mrs Bray should buy a nice house for them and put it in her garden, so they can help her grow plants and flowers”.
“No, Sarah. Mrs Bray is not the kind of person who believes in fairies”.
“So”, I suggested, “she should just talk to them. I heard in a documentary that plants react very well if we talk to them”.
“That’s true, my darling. It’s exactly like that”.
I really couldn’t believe plants could hear us, they didn’t have any ears! But it was worth trying.
“Look how your little twins have grown up, Susan” , squealed Mrs Bray the day after. “You’re lucky you can see your little- daughters every week. My son never brings mine here. By the way, you’re their maternal grand-mother, you know, you are the favourite one…”.
Our paternal grand-parents lived actually on the Balearic islands, in Palma; they had got tired of the English weather, so they had moved down there when they had retired. We saw them once a year: they gave us plenty of presents, but they didn’t even know our teachers’ or our friends’ names and they sometimes still mistook our names.
“So, tell me, which of you is Sarah and which is Anne?”.
We stared at Mrs Bray with our big light brown eyes, my sister and I were completely different and in an absolutely voluntary way. Sarah had long blonde hair, she was thin and angular. On the contrary I had shorter dark hair, like
