A May Daydream
You climb a little knoll at the southern end and look back. You are surprised to see the figure of a man, laid out in colorful blooms. He is wearing a bowler hat and broad, upturned mustachios. His jacket is oddly English, with white trim on the lapels and pockets and the bottom edge of the coat.
He winks at you!
That's odd. The Garden Guy raises a hand and tips his bowler, smiling broadly, although a mere picture drawn entirely in flowers.
You see an oddly blurred motion under the flowers, tiny figures busily digging up flowers, moving flowers, repotting flowers, replanting flowers... (You remember that the Mall in Washington, D.C. is constantly being dug up and replanted, so the tourists always have flowers and bright colors. The old flowers, still blooming, are thrown away. This dream of yours is nothing like that.)
A woman, also picked out in flowers, with a lot of whites and pinks, joins Garden Guy. She opens her parasol, and laughingly hides both their faces from your gaze.
The blur in the undergrowth has been intense.
The question is, is Garden Guy real? He saw you. The woman saw you. They both reacted to your presence, as plain as day.
Or were they an illusion created by the pixies, smurfs or gnomes, or whatever they were. You don't believe it was fairies. They haven't got a thought in their heads. Where's the Gardener in all this?
I think they're there for the Kentucky Derby. I must be dreaming.