My mother always taught me to look for fairy circles, little rings of whitecap mushrooms woven around the trees and moss. I built tiny towers out of rocks and collected flowers and rotted scraps of bark to lay out for them. I closely examined every butterfly and moth, just to be certain it wasn't 'the one'. And then one day, we saw a fairy. It was a fleeting second, but we both just knew it was real. An overgrown dragonfly? A strange unknown insect? Maybe. Still, I prefer to sit in a patch of grass, watch my mother and baby boy stack rocks, and imagine a fairy just might dance around that tower, drinking from buttercups, late into the night. Why wouldn't she?