Garden Wall


Brick-by-brick, the gardener built his wall, remembering the days when a white picket fence had been enough.

There was a flutter of wings and he turned, brandishing his trowel like a sword. A bluejay cocked its head to one side, looking at him in what he thought was a very judgmental way, especially for a bird.

“Sorry,” he muttered, lowering the trowel. “Thought you might be something else.”

The bird’s head shifted as if to say “And now you’re talking to a bird.”

“Well, what do you know?” the gardener grumbled. “You’re just a bird.”

He smoothed down the mortar and gently lowered a brick into place. It landed with the heavy thud of a slamming door.

The gardener brushed his hands and smiled.

“I’d like to see them get through that!”

He gathered his tools and trundled off, wheelbarrow toddling behind him like a young child being led by the hand. When he’d gone, the bird let out a chorus of song.

Over and under the vines crawled, winding limbs of green slithering in. A hundred glimmering wings filled the air. In the distance, a horn sounded.

The faerie folk were coming into his garden, wall or no wall.

Word Count: 200

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to John Brand for the prompt photo!

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