The Field of Wildflowers

The porch creaks softly as I step outside, the sky painted purple and deep blue. The light from the setting sun casts a soft glow on the house. Grandpa Callum sits on his favourite rocking chair, his gaze fixed out on the horizon where the wildflower field lay. His eyes are sad and haunted, burdened by a memory he never let go.

“It’s midsummer again,” he says quietly, voice thick with memories.

I settle down beside him and take his old, weathered hand in mine. The scent of wildflowers carries across the field, wrapping us in their sweet smell.

“Tell me the story again,” I whisper.

His eyes flicker with memory and he smiles fondly. He traces the edge of a faded flower crown on his knee absentmindedly.

“I met her in the wildflower fields,” he begins. “On a Midsummer day, many years ago when I was just about your age…”

The sun hangs heavy in the sky, light pooling like honey in the fields. I lift my face towards the sun, basking in the warmth. I breathe in deeply and take in the scents of the tall flowers surrounding me.

It’s unusually peaceful out here, no one else occupying the wildflower fields. I relish in the quietness, the sounds of nature all the accompaniment I need. Most people are celebrating midsummer together in the small Swedish village, but I prefer to stay away from the crowds.

I step through the lupines, their tall purple heads nodding in the breeze. A shuffling noise erupts from somewhere behind me, and I spin to face the source of the sound. A tall, slender figure rises from the ground. She stands barefoot amongst the flowers, her unusual hair the silver of moonlight spilling over her shoulders. She wears a crown of wildflowers atop her head, and the flowers of the field seem to lean towards her like she was the sun. Her pale skin glows in the light, freckled like a night sky scattered with stars.

She looks at me curiously. There’s something about her I can’t place - as if I’ve seen her in a dream before that I can’t recall. There’s wisdom of age in her eyes, yet they still gleam with youthful mischief.

“Who are you?” I ask.

She tilts her head. “No one today. Just a girl.”

The sun intensifies in its warmth, and the flowers sway again - not with the wind, but with her presence.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says. Her voice is soft, and sweet like honey.

“You didn’t,” I lie. My heart pounds loudly in my chest, and I wonder briefly if she can hear it.

She smiles at me. “You’re alone on midsummer?”

“I like it better this way.”

She takes a gentle step towards me, and the flowers part with reverence. “So do I.”

I watch Grandpa’s face as he recalls his past. His face glows with the memory of the woman he loved.

“Elowen was so beautiful,” he smiles. “We spent the whole midsummer day getting up to all sorts of trouble.”

I chuckle softly. The leaves sigh in the wind, as though they remember her too.

“What kind of trouble?” I ask gently.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drifts to the wildflower fields, where they tremble in the wind.

“The kind you don’t forget,” he murmurs.

We spent the morning running through the flower fields, dancing with the folk of the village around the maypole, and making flower crowns for each other. I’ve never met this girl before today, yet we talk with one another as though we’ve known each other our whole lives. We lie quietly under the burning sun, wondering what the other is thinking.

“Can I tell you something?” she says, voice suddenly serious. I roll onto my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows.

“Sure. Anything.”

Her fingers trail through the grass, plucking petals one by one before letting them fall to the ground.

“I'm not… like you,” she admits softly, eyes fixed on the ground.

“I’m not from this world,” she whispers. “Not entirely.”

I blink, unsure whether to laugh or lean in closer. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, then holds out her hand. In it lies a small wildflower. It glows faintly and pulses like a heartbeat.

My eyes widen and I peer at it curiously.

She exhales before continuing. “I’m a fairy. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. I come from a place where the sun never sets, and magic grows wild like the grass beneath our toes.”

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. But her expression is calm. Honest.

“I’m not supposed to cross over the veil between the supernatural and mortal world,” she continues. “But I was curious, and there’s so much I’m running from. I needed a break.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I ask.

She finally meets my gaze, her eyes searching my own.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “There's something about you. I just can’t help but trust you.”

“Oh,” I say softly.

She stands suddenly and brushes the dirt from her sundress.

“C’mon,” she says, holding her hand out to me. “I want to show you something.”

I know that I shouldn’t follow some strange fairy girl I just met - but, like me, there’s something about her that makes me want to trust her.

I take her hand in mine, and follow.

“That day she showed me things I never thought existed,” Grandpa says. His voice is quiet, almost reverent, like he’s afraid the memory might slip away if he speaks too loudly.

“She took me to a place where the air shimmered with light, where flowers whispered in a language only she could understand. A world behind the world. I didn’t want to leave.”

He pauses, his eyes far away again.

“I think we fell in love somewhere between the flower crowns and the laughter. Or maybe it was when she took my hand and led me through that hidden glade, where the air felt thick with magic.”

He chuckles softly under his breath.

“I know it sounds impossible. I knew it even then. But when she looked at me like I was the only real thing in her world… well, that was the moment I knew.”

His fingers brush the edge of the flower crown in his lap.

“She said we were woven together by fate, just for that one perfect day.”

I know it’s stupid, but I have fallen deeply, madly, in love with this girl. Elowen, she says her name is.

It tastes like sunlight and wildflowers when I say it. Elowen.

She laughs with her whole body, like joy is something that can’t be contained. Her voice is delightful, and she touches the world like it’s alive—like every petal, every blade of grass is an old friend.

I watch her twirl barefoot through the glade, sunlight threading through her hair like strands of gold.

It’s reckless, how fast I feel this. But when she runs back to me, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed, and laces her fingers with mine…

I think: this might be what magic feels like.

Not spells, or glowing things, but her.

Just her.

I pull her in by the waist and press my lips to hers. Her breath is warm and sweet, and makes my head feel fuzzy. Nothing else exists, she is all I know in this moment. Her hands slip gently through my hair, and I hold her tighter, afraid to let go.

When we part, her eyes catch the sunlight.

“Callum,” she says softly, eyes full of pain. I love hearing my name fall from her lips.

“What's wrong?” I ask, gently cupping her face in my hands.

“When the sun sets, I’ll never see you again until next midsummer.”

I feel the breath knocked out of my lungs. I let go of her. The weight of her words crash over me, and stun me into shocked silence.

“What are you saying?” I whisper.

“The veil between the supernatural and mortal world only thins during midsummer. I can’t cross over to come see you after today.”

She reaches to grab my hand, but I pull away.

“Elowen, I can’t let you go. I can’t wait a whole year to see you again, not when you’ve shown me what it’s like to truly live. I know it’s stupid, and I know I just met you, but I can’t help but fall a little for you. Elowen, I think I love you,” I say, voice breathy.

Her eyes widen and she processes the words I’ve just spoken. I’ve laid myself bare and vulnerable before her, and the words hang between us, unable to be taken back.

A strange tear trails softly down her cheek, the deep green colour of the ocean. I lift my hand towards her face and wipe it away gently, and she catches my hand in her own.

“I love you too,” she breathes.

I look deep into her eyes and allow myself to get lost in them, our eyes communicating what our mouths never can.

“There has to be some way you can stay with me,” I plead. “Some spell, or trick, anything.”

She tilts her head and shifts her gaze away from me, lost in thought.

“I think… hmm. I may be able to stay but it requires something. I’m not sure if you’d agree,” she admits.

“Anything, I’d agree to anything,” I say.

She smiles at me, eyes full of laughter.

“We’d have to get married. Not in the traditional, human way, but in the fairy way. Our hearts will be bound together. Being bound to a human gives me the freedom to walk through your land freely, any day I want.”

“Great! Sounds wonderful. How does it work?” I say enthusiastically. I don’t mind marrying her, as long as she stays with me. I have no doubt in my mind that she is the one for me, so it doesn’t matter whether we get married now or later, I know in my heart that it would happen anyway.

“Come follow me, we need to visit the Elderly Trees.”

I smile at Grandpa as he reminisces about his past.

“Grandpa, you married someone you just met?"

He chuckles warmly. “When you know, you know.

I watch the sun as it dips beneath the horizon, making the air grow colder.

“Our marriage was a very quick one. Our priest was a tree, our witnesses the creatures of the forest, and our wedding rings a crown of flowers. But we were happy. It was beautiful, and I will never forget it. When we were pronounced husband and wife, the flowers sang, and the wind swirled around us in embrace.”

I sigh happily, picturing it in my mind.

“That’s beautiful, Grandpa,” I say.

“Yes, it was,” he smiles again. “After that day, we built a life together. She joined me in my small cottage by the fields, and we had a child. He was a cheeky little child we named Jasper.”

I laughed.

“We had a happy home for 20 years. But, like all stories, ours came to an end.”

I put my arm around Grandpa to comfort him as he recounts his trauma.

“She had a past before I met her. A dark one. She was betrothed to a cruel man, and she ran away scared. The people of her world assumed her to be dead, but years later, the man-”

His voice trembles, and he struggles to go on.

I grip his hand gently, but he’s somewhere else now - lost in the memory.

“The man found us,” Grandpa finally whispers, eyes distant. “He came late at night on Midsummer’s day. I should’ve known… I should’ve seen the signs.” His voice became shaky. “I heard the wind howl that night, like it was warning me. The flowers wouldn’t bloom that morning. Even the willow was silent. And then—”

He chokes on his words. “And then he came. And he… he…”

He clutches at his chest and rocks forward in the chair, breath coming fast. My heart breaks for my poor Grandpa.

“She begged him. She begged him not to hurt our son; she gave herself up to protect us. I watched her fall. I watched the life leave her eyes and I— I—”

“Dad?” a voice calls sharply from inside.

Footsteps rush onto the porch.

“Dad, what are you doing? Are you okay?”

My father rushes onto the porch and kneels by Grandpa’s side.

“Is Grandpa okay? What’s happening?” I ask worriedly. Panic fills my chest.

Dad’s eyebrows furrow with worry. "You didn’t take your medication, did you?” he asks in a frantic voice. “You’re having an episode again—”

Grandpa flinches. “It wasn’t an episode. It was real. She was real.”

“Dad, please,” my father says softly, like he’s talking to a child. “There was no fairy. There was no prince. You’ve been sick for years. You know what the doctor said.”

I glance between them, heart pounding.

The warmth from earlier is gone now, replaced by cold, creeping confusion.

Grandpa turns to me with desperation in his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him!” he yells. “They all think I’m mad. But Elowen was real. She was my wife. She gave up everything for me. Don’t let them erase her.”

“Dad…” my father sighs, running a hand through his hair, tired and unsure.

Grandpa’s gaze drifts back toward the horizon, toward the field bathed in twilight.

“She visits me every year,” he whispers. “Every Midsummer, she finds her way back to me. Just for a little while.”

Neither of us speak.

He leans back in his chair, eyes glassy with memory. “She’s coming again tonight,” he says softly. “I can feel it.”

And suddenly, the evening feels too still.

Too quiet.

I sit frozen, unsure what to think.

“Come on, Dad,” my dad says to Grandpa, pain filling his voice. I can tell that this is affecting him. I don’t know what to do. “Let’s go inside. It’s time to rest.”

Grandpa shakes his head vigorously, panic overtaking him. “No… I must stay out here. My wife is waiting for me.”

My father shifts restlessly beside me. I’m scared. I’ve never seen Grandpa like this before.

Tears slide down his cheeks as he looks sadly out at the wildflower fields. I grab his hand and squeeze, letting him know that I’m here and it’s okay.

“She’s close,” he murmurs. “I can feel her. She’s crossing the… veil.” His words come slower, each sentence taking more effort.

The wind picks up, sharp and sudden, rustling the dry grass.

I shiver. My hand is still wrapped in his, and I feel the strength slipping from his fingers.

“Grandpa?” I whisper.

He turns to me, and in the fading light, he doesn’t look old anymore. He looks young again.

A boy in love.

A man waiting.

Tears stream down his cheeks steadily now, matching the ones falling from my own eyes.

“I’m sorry, my pretty Lily. I must go join my wife,” he sobs.

“Grandpa, what do you mean?” I cry.

“Please don’t go, Grandpa, I need you,” I beg. I cry until my eyes are raw and my chest aches.

My dad rushes to the other side of the chair, panic flashing across his face. “Dad—Dad, stay with us, okay? Just breathe, stay with us.”

But Grandpa doesn’t seem to hear. He’s looking past us, eyes fixed on something we can’t see. Something beautiful.

His lips part in the faintest smile. “She’s here…” he whispers.

And then he exhales one final breath.

Stillness.

“No,” I gasp. “Grandpa!”

I collapse against him, sobbing into his chest, clutching his hand like if I hold tight enough, I can pull him back.

My dad kneels beside me, eyes shining with grief, voice tight. “I love you, dad,” he whispers. He pulls me against his chest as we cry, death claiming a beloved family member.

It’s been 24 hours since Grandpa passed away. Dad explains Grandpa’s condition to me. Ever since his wife, my grandmother, died, he’s never been the same.

After the trauma of watching his wife die at the hands of a guy who was never caught, he lost touch with reality. The doctors called it psychosis.

They said the stories he told were symptoms of his sickness. That Elowen was just a fantasy he clung to; a way to make sense of his loss.

But I refuse to believe it wasn’t real. I am certain that there is a world out there we don’t know of, one that I want to explore. I look out my bedroom window and try not to think about the past few hours.

I watch the wildflowers sway gently in the breeze, shimmering under the light of the moon.

Something catches my eye.

Two figures stand in the center of the field, swaying gently beneath the stars.

One of them glows faintly, like she’s made of moonlight and memory. Her long, silver hair flows behind her like mist.

The other is taller, slower, and unmistakably him.

Grandpa.

My breath catches in my throat as I watch the two dance together amongst the tall flowers, their eyes never straying from each other’s.

The flower crowns on their heads gleam like halos.

And then, just as gently as they appeared, they fade into the wind.

Maybe it was grief.

Maybe it was a dream.

But deep down, I know what I saw.

And I believe him.

I believe them both.