Welcome

They bustled about, deep in preparation, then deep in worry (unable to find little Mildred). When they reached her, at the point where the civilized lawn opened to the wood's majestic carpet of sweet grass and random blooms, she was saying a few words of welcome over small bowls of milk, some biscuits, a thick blob of bacon fat, and a plethora of toys (as many as she could dig out of the bins in the basement and fit into her apron pockets). "Honey?" they said, and they tried not to chuckle as she put up her right index finger to shush them. "And so," she said to the wild and the willows and the weeds with a heartfelt smile, "here you are. It doesn't make sense to set out food and drink and other stuff for the ones we love and forget you. I have never forgotten you and I never will." It was then that a breeze picked up, rustling leaves and stirring stems seemingly out of nowhere, and Mildred spread her arms wide giggling (ready to hug them if any came back right then and there). They stood behind her then, hands clasped and lumps fully formed in throats, grateful for all of the magic that moves in humble places, taking the shape it needs to take.