Showing posts from May, 2022

The Bored Little Girl and the Fairies

 There was once a bored little girl. In fact, she was so very bored, she could think of nothing to do at all.     She set her chin on her hands, and stared glumly into the world from her front porch.     Then she moved onto the grass and continued to stare morosely.     Next she meandered into the gardens, and looked about with utmost boredom into the flowers.     Suddenly her eyebrow twitched.     Her eyes narrowed.     Then they opened wide.     Surely it couldn't be...     But it was...     The dancing fairies.     All at once she was as far from bored as she had ever been. She watched the fairies all afternoon.      And that, my friends, is what can happen to even you, if you grow bored enough.

The Roaming Elephant

 Once upon a time there was an Elephant who wanted so desperately to roam. But try as he might, there was simply no place in which he could do so. For the grass had faded, and the fruit trees had withered, the water was scarce, and his brothers and sisters had begun to fade.     Then came the call from Fairyland.     A portal that opened in the middle of a scarce water-hole.     The fairies beckoned.     And the elephant went.     Wouldn't you?

The Fairy and I (Part III)

  And so, I went away from my beloved teacher with knowledge I had not before possessed, and enjoyed the beauty of my youth.   So quick was I to take care of my beauty, to bathe in the finest milk, and cleanse my skin with the oil of rose.   To lengthen my lashes, and make my hair shine.   To make my skin taught, and keep feasting at bay.   To laugh but little, saving my eyes from lines.   To disdain those who did not hold or care for the truth of what I knew, and to envy those who did better than I.   Quick to look into every shined surface, to behold the beauty that shown, to squash any imperfection with a remedy or a cure, and to bask in my youthful loveliness.                   Until one day, I saw upon my head, a thread of spun silver.                   I gasped at the mirror, my dearest and truest friend so quickly turned destructive and mortal enemy, and fled at first moonlight to the forest where my fairy dwelt.                 “Fairy!” I cried not only for myself, but fo

The Snail and the Witch

 Once upon a time there was a snail who sludged up the path of an enchanted forest. It was on a mission to see a witch. And what it wanted from the witch—what it wanted more than anything—was to be able to fly.     But when it got to the witch's cottage, the place looked abandoned. The garden was all tangled with weeds, the front door was barred, and when the snail slid up the wall to have a look in through the window, all it could see was dust.     The snail drooped down the wall, very disappointed. It had hoped that by now it would have at least experienced some sort of vertical levitation. The snail had come from rather far away, making it quite a long journey to the witch, and now it had all been for nothing.     But then the snail heard a snort. Then a squeak. And then a raucous.     The sound seemed to be coming from a metal pail that sat alongside the front door.     The snail slid up the pail, and what do you think it saw?     Down at the bottom of the pail was the witch! O

The Nature of Kindness

There was once an evil witch who felt the need to constantly whisper into the mind of the oldest tree in the forest. It was a great mischief, one that delighted the witch in a sickening kind of way. And one from which the tree, who was so very old, could not refrain from listening.     The witch filled his mind with horror and tales of woe, deep dark depressing thoughts and grave sorrow.     As each day, then week, than month, than year passed, the old tree descended into madness. And he began to spout out of his barking mouth the foulest of things that the witch passed into his mind. Everyone in the forest took to avoiding the mad old tree, lest they be befouled by his language or his dark thoughts. But even though he said the most horrible things, and even though everyone who heard his awful language and dangerous lies grew a little more horrid in their own souls, the old tree was really just a strange old thing with a horrible burden.     It happened that a fairy who's greatest

The Committee for Expanding the Enchanted Wood

 Once upon a time there was a little boy who wandered the woods every day. He wasn't afraid, even though there was a fairly good chance that the woods were enchanted.     He wasn't afraid mostly because his parents weren't afraid. And why weren't his parents afraid?     Well, what was the most an enchanted wood could do to him? What was there to fear, in an ultimate sense, really?     It could have monsters, or cruel witches, or crueler fairies —but all of those were just adventures. They were only things of trying natures; things like stepping into a fairy ring, or being cursed to be a goat, or walking a winding path that would have him lost in circles. Scary things, yes. But there is only one outcome that results from an adventure in an enchanted wood , and that is to be set free by some good being while enriching the adventurer into a person of extraordinary character.     There are worse fates.     Which is why his parents wanted him in the enchanted wood as often a

The Farmer and the Fairies' Gold

 Once upon a time there was a field of wheat. Each kernel blazed with golden glory as the sun touched its shafts each day. Indeed, it was so much like gold that the fairies came down a tiny moonlit stream in the night and harvested every single grain.     When the farmer came out the next day and discovered her missing wheat, she marveled. What, she wondered, could have come in the night and taken every kernel of an entire field of wheat and left not a single piece of grain amongst the chaff?     The night, the farmer sat guard, hoping to witness a return of the nighttime thief —a low hope, for there was nothing left for the thief to take. But fairies are strange creatures, and where one night has yielded barrels of gold, who was to tell them that the wheat did not grow so fast? Thus, as the moon reached high into the sky, down came the fairies on their tiny stream, their lithe bodies resting on the bows eager for more gold —and the farmer saw them coming.     She leapt and cut off the

Where to Find Magic

 A little boy sat on the edge of a cliff face with his small hand tucked under his chin, and sighed. He sighed because he had come to believe that all the magic had gone out of the world.     It was the way that everything felt a bit flat, as though the grownups who taught him seemed to have lost their interest in their subjects, as though the other grownups around him had grown weary of telling him unique things, as though no one looked around to try and see the magic themselves.     And if grownups couldn't see magic, then it figured that it must have gone away.     But the boy had a book tucked under his arm.     He thought that perhaps there might just be a hint of magic left over somewhere between its pages — for it was a book of fairy tales.     Suddenly a wind swept up, and a ship approached.      The boy smiled. He blinked and boarded the ship, which then set sail all over the world, sailing the wind and rain until the clouds had let out all the water that they had stored

The Sky on the Ground

The sky looked down on the ground and thought it looked funny. Too pale. It lacked the richness and the growth and all the things that had made the ground always look quite nice, as far as the sky remembered.     But what could be done about it? Little, thought the sky. But then it thought again. It thought about billowing rains and blustering winds — winds to spread the seeds about and rains to make the seeds grow. This would add the interesting variation that the sky had become accustom to seeing on the ground.     It did its best to bring the winds and it did its best to bring the rains, but what the sky had not considered was the fact that the birds had become too few to bring the seeds into the air, and the clouds had grown scarce of late, making them difficult to gather.     Try as the sky might, it could not fix the ground.     But, small piece by small piece, the sky noticed that the ground had a bit more color, a bit more depth to it. As though someone else had noticed, too. P

The Fairy and I (Part II)

  “Do you see?” the silver fairy asked me.                 I nodded, for indeed I did see this magical view she laid before me and could not speak for fear my voice would break its lovely spell.                 Her eyes narrowed.  “But do you truly see?”                 I looked at her, and did not understand.                 But I was about to see most clearly.                 “Do you not think them beautiful?”                 I gazed again at the golden fairies and nodded vigorously. “They are marvelously fair,” I risked all to whisper, and was delighted that the vision remained.                 She nodded, a sad, slow nod. “You do see. You see that they are much more beautiful than me.”                 “No!” I cried in a louder whisper, and my body started. “I do not see that at all! You are surpassing lovely, fairy.” I said the truth of my small heart, and it was then I noticed it, something in my fairy that the others did not have; that thing which made my words fe

The Dusty Book of Fairy Tales

 Once upon a time there was a book of fairy tales lying on a shelf in an attic. It was dusty because it had never been opened, which was of great sorrow to a book that very desperately wanted to be read. For years and years it sent out the most wishful and hopeful thoughts that it could — which is the only thing that a book can do if it wants to be read.     One day a very little girl made her way up into the attic.     At once, the book was ecstatic, holding between its pages the thought that it was soon to be read. But, alas, the little girl did not even notice the book. There was an old dusty rocking horse that was ridden, a wooden toy train that was wheeled about, and an old picture album whose pages were turned. And then the little girl left the room.     The book's thoughts sank very low, then     The book thought then that this was the very lowest it could ever feel.     But it didn't count on the next day, when the little girl made her way up into the old attic again, a

The Witch Who was Good on the Inside

 Ava was a witch, and not a very good one. It wasn't her fault, exactly. Some people were born to be witches, while others were... Ava.     But what she lacked in actual talent, she made up for in witchly enthusiasm. She did this by joyously wearing her black pointy hat, exuberantly striding about with a broomstick, and bombastically making all manners of healing potions as best she could — none of which, of course, worked... but they tasted nice... there was a lot of mint.     It was the blacksmith's kid who really pointed out the flaws in Ava's witching. His name was Toby, and he was a very blunt person. So, when Ava's potion didn't work, and when her broom didn't fly, and when her hat lacked that extra sort of witchyness that screams 'powers at work,' Toby was the first to say so. And he said it loudly.     One day, he said it so loudly, that Ava heard him.     She tried to stop her lip from trembling. She tried to stop the tears welling up in her eye

The Girl Who Laughed

 There was once a little girl who loved to laugh. She giggled and chortled and guffawed with joy. Any excuse would do. The sight of a flower's head nodding as though in time to the wind warranted a giggle. The feel of a kitten's fur under her hand was really not fully appreciated unless she stifled little shrieks of joy. The sight of babies getting their fat cheeks pinched by old women was enough to send her into peals of chortles.     But the best laughter of all was when someone told a joke.     Because, then, it was the kind of laughter that came all at once.     The kind the jumped out without any expectation.     A moment of pure, unadulterated spontaneity.     It was the burst that came from the belly.     And that, of course, was the kind of laughter that could never be planned.     For herself, that was.     But for others?      That took a lifetime of learning just how to get them to burst. And when she found the pattern, and got the jokes just right so that everyone s

The Old Crow

 Once upon a time there was an old crow. It was a struggler, a hopper, and a left-taloned dreamer. It struggled because it was old and had wings that hurt. It was a hopper because of said hurt wings which left it hopping along. And it was a left-taloned dreamer because that was the only talon it had left. As I said, it was an old crow.     But the crow had vim and vigor.     It had spice and a quirky way of cocking its head.     And, sometimes, even when the day seemed bleak, it would lean back its head and caw.     One day, the old crow saw a mouse on its side with a paw missing. The old crow hopped up to the mouse, and turned it over with its beak. It nudged the mouse into the shelter of a nearby shrub, and stood guard. When the mouse felt strong enough, it watched the old crow, and saw what it was like to be without an appendage.      And the old crow watched the mouse come to terms with having a missing paw.     It watched as the mouse nodded its head to the old crow in thanks — wh

The Little Girl Who Saw the Fairies Once

 There was once a little girl who had a particular fascination with a rather large rock that stood at the top of a hill that was far too steep for her to climb. For several years she looked at the top of the hill longingly, waiting for the day when her legs would finally become long enough and then she would be able to see what it was about the large rock that drew her so.     One day, on her seventh birthday, she woke up and knew that her legs were long enough.     She set off as quickly as she could, and, after a lot of panting, made her way to the top of the hill.     The little girl set her fingertips to the rock reverently.     She felt its creases, examined its moss, ran all the way around it.     It was, indeed, a very good rock.     But that didn't explain the fascination that she felt inside her.     And so she climbed to the top of the rock and gazed down.      Which was, of course, when she saw it — the essence of what it was that had called to her for so long. For there

The Melancholy Fairy Queen

 Time moved slowly for the fairy queen. One would have thought it would move quite quickly, for she was very old. But that is the thing about being immortal: time becomes a very funny thing; the fairy queen had grown weary of so much time.     And so the fairy queen set out on a long journey to find the one person who she knew was older than she was. For there was a hermit who lived in a cave near the sea who was said to have been born just after the world came into being.     When the fairy queen reached the hermit, the sight was not what she expected. She did not find an old man sitting lethargically in a chair contemplating the sea's waves in an ancient, melancholy kind of way — the way in which she had herself sat in her own throne among the court of the Fae. Instead, she found a middle aged fellow dancing around a fire with a little boy. The little boy giggled and laughed and chortled at the man's funny dancing. And the man was laughing, too. When they had stopped to rest

The Fairy and I (Part I)

Once, when I was very young, I sneaked into the forest by moonlight.  By chance, perhaps, a fairy landed on a branch so close to my face I could see the glimmering of her pale eyes, alight with the glow of a thriving moonlit night.  Her hair of spun silver, and delicate wings, her pale skin, and graceful movement inspired a thrill of joy that sang in my body from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair.  She was the most beautiful creature my child-eyes had seen—or so I had thought in that moment.  For I would come to learn that I was quite mistaken. “Oh, you are so very beautiful!” I exclaimed, holding my fingertips back though they longed to touch, to make certain with another sense the truth of what my eyes saw. The fairy raised her delicate silver eyebrows, her eyes wide with surprise.             Do you really think so?”             “Indeed, fairy, I think you are the most beautiful creature of all I have ever seen!”  I spoke my impassioned truth again.