The park that Mister Quincy Greene had envisioned is... underwhelming, at first glance.
Sure, there are large swaths of wildflowers, but they are overgrown with weeds and tangles, and Jack can tell that the soil is poor - it feels somehow sad and hungry under his fingers, and the flowers that are growing are fighting out of tenacity.
It is a strange treat to have grownups listen to HIM for once. When Mister Quincy speaks about putting in a pergola, Jack knows that the location isn't right - it will block the sun-loving flowers that should go HERE.
The shade plants will thrive THERE. And don't remove that tree, it just needs more water and love, and it will leaf and flower again next season.
There is a moment of tension when the representative from the condos shows up. The Liam Sidhe is aloof - she cares about the people in the new low-income housing, but faces facts, if they can't get the wildflowers and the park to coexist, she'll push for the park.
The Eshu etymologist who has shown up to argue for the continuation of the Butterflies she follows on their travels across the country every year argues back... it takes some smoothing over from Myrtle Anne to help them find common ground. (Boggan Power!)
Finally, the time comes to actually do the work. Jack is blindfolded! Luckily his adopted mom is there to reassure him it's just so that the boggans can do their work quickly.
The sun shines warmly on his skin and fur. He can hear the buzz of the bees, the tweet of birds, and then, the rhythm of the workers. The scrape of bricks. Creak of lumber. Chop of a shovel through hard earth, and thud of dirt being moved. Scrape, Creak, Chop, Thud. Scrape, Creak, Chop, Thud!
The boy sings, and works his Spring magic.
Deeper inside his cantrip, he can feel the sparks of the lives that are here. Green souls that strive to grow and thrive, their roots stretching tenaciously through the rocky soil to grip. Had the builders simply tried to transplant these, the roots would break, the flowers would die. But Jack knows better, you can't just order people around. He coaxes, cajoles, encourages, like he would ask a seed to grow. Though he can't SEE what is happening, he can feel it as the roots shake free, the flowers curl up politely, and the stems brace themselves.
Time passes... and then someone is shaking his shoulder lightly. The blindfold comes off, and he is given a cool, sweet drink.
"Well, my lad, take a look at our work. YOUR work."
Before him spreads a marvelous park. It looks just as grand as the fancy ones in the rich gated communities, but BETTER, because there is no fence around it, no signs telling people to stay out. Paths meander around areas where the wildflowers now bloom in "native planting" beds, benches and picnic tables, a marvelous play area with swings and jungle gym, and all of that poor rocky soil is now awakened into soft earth where grass and clover grows, begging for a ball to be thrown, a picnic to be held, or simply to fall back and wriggle in the good green grasp of the earth.