Watering Down

By Rhianna Frances

We explored the forest together every autumn. This time you drudged behind, begging Dad to take us for ice-cream.

You huffed down beside me.

“What’re you looking at?”

I beamed up to your flat expression, then pointed down. “Fairy ring!”

Inside, there was a teeny leaf. Maybe a cloak? A wing?

You reached for a mushroom. I pushed you away.

“No! Don’t break it!”

Phew. Close.

“Ha ha, you’re a baby. Fairies aren’t real.” You clambered up, trampled the ring, then sauntered away like you hadn’t destroyed the world.

I cried out six years’ worth of wonder, watering the forest floor.