The Nymphs

The meadow is always deadly quiet early in the mornings. A small stretch of lively grass on the side of a hill, surrounded by the most beautiful pines, stretching toward the clouds above. The only occupant of this small slice of heaven was a thin, silver haired man whose back was stooped with age. The man had chosen the meadow to age in peace and grow the herbs and plants he’d collected throughout his life. The herb man enjoyed the peace it brought him to walk about his property, not a soul around to bother him, just the tittering of the few animals in the woods. He’d just finished building his new home and had finally established the small garden surrounding the house, his pride and joy. Neat rows of only the most exotic herbs and plants with only a slim walkway to break up the greenery, which was finally blooming even in the end of the winter months. The man was clearly very precise and paid great attention to detail. Each type of plant had its own tiny plot, and each plot was lined by a thin silver thread that glittered in the cold morning light. Upon awakening, the herb man always started his day with the same tea and a walk about the trees, listening intently to the animals chatting among themselves. He liked to imagine the conversations they must have and how entertaining it would be to understand them but he was content simply enjoying the company from afar.

This morning however, when the herb man went to gather his usual crop to make his tea, he found the small plot had been trampled and frozen over. He was rather disappointed, but he took it as a sign to branch out and try a new kind of tea. He gathered a few of the herbs he typically enjoyed and after some thought, plucked a few leaves from a stalk he had yet to experiment with. After boiling the water and steeping his tea, the herb man sat and watched the sun peak through the pines as he listened to the birds and insects of the morning chirp and hum. Once his tea was finished, the man felt the need to explore a new path through the trees on such a beautiful, frosted day. He began to venture across the meadow, weaving around the tree trunks in his usual manner, admiring the growth and flowers of the forest. It always amazed him the great detail in which nature is produced, no thing quite the same as another, and each with its own beauty and definition, serving its own purpose.

The sun continued to rise and bring a bright life to the forest floor as the herb man walked and smiled to himself. Ahead of him, he noticed the most beautiful and elegant fox, slipping around the trees, experiencing the forest in the same way the man had done for months. He continued his usual stride, moving with the fox, gliding about the forest floor. Eventually the fox stopped to admire the simple man gazing in her direction. For a moment, the two stared at one another, the man enraptured by the intelligence he saw in the foxes eyes. Such a small creature, yet so graceful, the orange and white of her face was beautiful and vibrant in comparison to the browns and deep greens of the trees she played among. Finally, she continued on her way, seeming more sure of her direction, occasionally glancing back to see if the man was still following her, almost bidding him to join her.

Staying back far enough to keep from frightening the fox, the herb man kept pace with her long strides and watched, fascinated by the way she seemed to glide across the dirt like a mist. Suddenly, the fox darted off through the trees. The herb man stopped, puzzled as to what could have caused this reaction. After a moment, he opted to continue in the direction of his disappeared companion.

As he walked, he still saw no sign of the beautiful fox. The herb man slowly grew weary and sad and decided he would begin venturing home. On his way, he saw a flicker of the fox’s bright tail to his left, and he quickly turned with a new spring in his step. He continued to follow the quick glimpses he caught of that little flame dancing through the woods. After what seemed like an eternity, the herb man came to a small clearing, where he saw the fox sitting in the center of a frozen pond, once again staring at the man. He slowly approached the edge of the pond, cautious and quiet. The fox stayed put, regal and seemingly glowing on the ice. Suddenly rather tired, the man sat on the frosted grass beside the pond and watched the fox as the fox watched him. The fox lay down, and the man followed suit. The fox closed her eyes, and the man found himself increasingly sleepy as well. As he began to doze off, he noticed something shining across the frozen pond, just behind the fox. He sat up a bit and squinted, the fox continued to sleep peacefully. The shining object moved closer to the fox until the herb man realized it had the shape of a tiny woman, only a hand high. She moved elegantly, floating just an inch above the ground and appeared to be dancing. Her movements reminded the man much of the fox. As he sat, enraptured by the nymphs dance, more just like her started to slip from the trees. They came in all colors, shapes, and sizes. The smallest being the size of the mans little finger, and the largest the size of his leg. He sat fascinated, watching the little nymphs dance about on the ice, moving and swaying without a care in the world. They gracefully floated among each other and around the fox, who continued sleeping peacefully.

The herb man lost track of the time that had passed and soon all of the nymphs began to journey back into the trees, still dancing and flitting to and fro. All the while, the fox slept on.

The herb man decided to leave the creature in peace and made the trip back to his quaint little home. Smiling and shaking his head, he decided that this new herb was not meant for his tea.