The Flower Ladies
When the flower ladies came to visit, it was a curious thing. For they came through the window, climbing over the sill, and to look at them directly was to see no more than a pile of flowers. But — there is, of course, a 'but,' for there always is when dealing with the magic of flowers — if you looked out of the corner of your eye, in that peripheral space reserved for all fairy sightings in the world of mortals, you would see the flower ladies.
If you saw them, you would see them dancing brightly, all chipper in their midnight revels. You would wonder that they were drawn to the crumbs on the floor — the brownies, the biscuits, or the pie, for it seemed the flower ladies only came on baking days. You would see them drink from the smallest china cups filled with yesterday's dew as they scooped up the crumbs from the floor, as big as a muffin in their tiny hands.
To catch them was to only see a bower of flowers, and that would be no more than the merest moment, for fingers could not trap them long. Reveling was a serious business, to the flower ladies; they would never be so entrapped as to miss one second of their midnight bliss.
And then, when the first star faded from the sky, they would leave. By the window, naturally.