She is here again. I am sure she is the same one I saw yesterday. Come to think of it, she has been here every morning since the rose blooms started opening and lifting their heads towards the sun.

The cats haven't seen her, or maybe they have. They are too busy rolling in the catmint, their senses dulled by the hypnotic effect of the aroma of the plant. She is a wise one, knowing on which rose plant to rest.

At night I have been woken by tinkling sounds. I have laid in bed, listening, trying to work out where the sound is coming from. The sounds drift up to me through the open window. Sometimes I see shadows on the wall near my bed. Shadows with fluttering wings, too small to be owls out hunting in the moonlight.

Some mornings I have gone out to the rose bush and wondered what has happened. The pansies planted in the same garden bed appear to have happy smiles on their upturned faces. The scented night stock's perfume seems to linger longer. The hanging baskets are festooned with silky spider's webs, with drops of dew shining in the early sunlight making the garden look magical.

I pretend I don't see her. I am busy cutting sprays off the Jasmine, smelling the perfume when I hear a musical whisper. Some one is whispering my name. I turn around and she is standing on a rose bloom. She beckons me to come over to her. I am fascinated, by this beautiful being. I lean down, making sure I do not bump the rose bush. She is so delicate. She tells me to sit on the grass and as I do, I am surrounded by butterflies and ladybugs and other fairies join us. She tells me that she is the Rose Fairy. She has been watching all the past months, as I have worked to make a rose garden. She asked me if I ever wondered why the lavender plants always blossomed and why the pansies had such happy faces. I whispered back, that I had wondered, but thought it was because I had worked with love in my heart. She tells me that she and the others like her know when people with love in their hearts are making new gardens for the enjoyment of others. She also says, that the fairy folk work at night, helping the flowers become more beautiful. She tells me that the soft hair I comb from my cats has been woven into cloaks to keep the fairies warm. She must go now, but will be back.

She is on the rose again. I look out the window. Last night in my garden there was laughter, tinkling bells, and other sounds. I wanted to get out of bed and look, but I was frightened that they might fly away. She is so lovely. I open the door and quietly go into the garden. I sit down near the Mary Rose bush and watch. Her wings are iridescent, her hair, long and wavy. Today her gown is pale blue. The other fairies with her are so beautiful too. She sees me and I hold out my hand to her. She flutters across to my hand, and stands on my upturned palm. I am back, she says, because you believe and while you believe, we will always be here.