Fairy Summer
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Between Midsummer and Lammas day, as the season drowses its way towards the heart, that’s what we call fairy summer. It’s the time when the mounds can be seen, paths opening up in the woods. Dank ditches become sparkling streams and dead trees unfurl leaves and flowers.
Do the fairies walk amongst us? Of course they do, at any time of year when needs must. But now they have time to spare, to see the sights and delights, watch the entertainments, try the food and drink. Gaudily dressed, loud, speaking strangely, they blend amongst the tourists. Which they are, of a sort, tourist in their own land.
Though not all! Sometimes the seasonal workers are of the fae. Selling fruit and veg from roadside stalls, tea and cakes and lemonade in beach-front cafes, in places you have ignored throughout the long autumn, winter and spring. Were they there before, hidden by the dull grey skies, closed until the weather attracted enough trade? Or have they sprung up, mushroom-like, from unseen gaps? Is there a difference that matters?
A time when wonders reveal themselves, carnivals and festivals appear for a night and vanish with the dawn. Our drab neighbours throw off their dull lives, decorate with flowers and fancies. Hold feasts and picnics, take the children to see extraordinary sights.
Is this not simply people – normal, not uncanny people – responding to the weather? Spreading their human joy? Holding parties, celebrations, even weddings out where we can see them? Well indeed it is.
It’s why the fairies call it mortal summer, and choose it as the time to come forth and meet with their human neighbours when they are at their most fae.
Their human neighbours, and friends, and family.
Like you.
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