I pick up the garden snippers with the plastic mint green handles and gently trim the dead heads off the small, newborn daisies. Their small petals sway softly in the wind and I pat them encouragingly. I then move off to the next plant, a small book whose inked words leak off the pages and into my mind. The fragile papyrus is brown and crumbling into the fresh amber soil, and I move it into the sunlight's rays. I can see the dust floating through the beams. Fairies! Small, magical fairies that float through the wind. I pick up the hose and start showering the other plants. I grow books.