How does one write about magick, how to choose the words to describe something as effervescent and ethereal as a garden spirit challenges this writer. Yet, of course, she who writes will try. She wants to. June it was and the first green beans hung long and slender. A good year for beans. As the picker sat quietly absorbed in her task the deva assigned to that particular bean patch moved ever closer - fae to human. But not destined to meet, the picker stirred and turned to see a faint glow of green mist then noticing a bean she had missed in her picking moved on.