Sprites at the Show

Sure, and I almost convinced myself the wee people were about at the Philadelphia Flower Show.

Their laundry was drying on a clothesline. Their blue and red front doors and their windows were wide open, the lights inside twinkling like Lilliputian lanterns. Tiny milk bottles stood near the stoops and flower pots brimming with blooms nestled in carpets of moss. Their little houses were fashioned from twigs and bark and moss and carved into tree trunks or fallen logs. One storybook cottage with lace curtains teetered like something out of Lemony Snicket, another resembled a wooden teapot.

Welcome to The Ealain Wood – the enchanted place sprites and nymphs and faeries call home. Where the forest floor glistens with Irish-bred daffodils and dappled “sunlight” kisses rhododendrons and ferns and lindens and smoke trees. Where massive faux trees made of muslin reach to the rafters and if you’re lucky you’ll hear the sound of a harp or a flute and perhaps the whisper of gossamer wings as the magical creatures flit about so quickly that they’re imperceptible to mere humans.

I tried to capture them on camera, but all I got were these shots of their homes.