I saw a fairy at the Perth train station this evening, coming home.
He had dark bare feet, and stretchy thai fisherman’s pants in green and purple, and a stretchy burnt-orange tunic top. He had a big bulky backpack, with plastic clips, that he slung between his feet when he sat on the train, in the seat next to the seat that you have to give up, squashed in by people on all sides, where he fell asleep. He had vivid green facepaint curling in long tapered leaves and stalks around the features of his face, and there were leaf-shaped leaves, bigger than your hand, and early branches, yellow and pale green, sprouting from his head and his tunic. When he walked on to the train, as rushed and then as slowly as the rest of us, he jangled faintly, as his steps moved the line of bells that hung from his waist.
I wasn’t fooled by the plastic leaves and branches tied onto his clothes, or by the birght green facepaint. I recognised him as a fairy out flitting the city for the night, heading home on the train.