Fairy Stories & Other Tales

There was once a rose that bloomed on a vine, twining close around a fence that lay on a major walking thoroughfare. It was a stunning thing, and very much out of season, with a fragrance that could not help but cause all who passed by to smile faintly to themselves. The rose held the kind of beauty that had the power to change a person’s day from bad to good. It was this power that caused those who saw it to delight in its lovely, delicate presence. Though no one spoke of it to one another as they moved past each other on the thoroughfare, there was a secret knowledge shared by all—a community of witnesses made of knowing that there was wonder in the world. One day, however, the first passerby of the morning noticed a shockingly horrific state of affairs: the rose had been cut. No longer did the bloom offer comfort, or sudden small smiles, or changes from bad days to good. As the frowns on the faces of the passersby grew longer, each carried with them their own burden of loss. F

 I saw a tree as bare as bones,  and sought to make it grow.  But I missed that it was winter there,  inside the tree, within its lair.  For in the world of my own,  it was already summer in tone; thus I missed the wondrous state,  when the tree began to grow of late,  and found a sight of great repose when I turned and saw the tree had rose above the station I had assigned,  finding Winter and Summer close aligned In Spring.

 There was once a bird who found herself trapped underneath a thick canopy of forest trees. It was a horrible feeling because up until that very morning, the trees had always been her friends. To fly beneath them for shelter and then find oneself hidden from the fresh breeze and the clear sky was enough to throw the little bird into a panic.     She tweeted loudly again and again, flying as high as she could as she cried against the dampening echo that reverberated through sheets of leaves, always smashed back down again by the thick foliage.     A day and a night passed, and still she could find no exit through the forest ceiling. This was long enough for her panic to give way to exhaustion, and when she finally landed for more than a few seconds on a heavily shaded branch, she fell asleep.     When she woke, she remembered her predicament. Fighting against the panic, she took several deep breaths, and looked about her.     That was when she saw it.     Shining in the distance.     A

The dark clouds boded ill for the window watcher who had become accustom to the sun. It felt like a slap—a sudden painful shock—and sent her mind down a trail of curious, tumbling thoughts that were not helpful. For they, too, were dark, menacing things.             The rain came down in torrents soon after, and the sky seemed ever darker; a hopeless mass of escapeless presence that pressed hard and long until the light faded altogether, and it was impossible to distinguish clouds from rain from night.             The darkness pressed too hard, perhaps, for as the watcher looked with dreary eyes, a single ray broke through.             And though the sun had gone to bed, and it had long since been night, the beam of moonlight was enough to restore her world to rights.             For even the smallest kind of light was enough.