Mosquito Thoughts

I am sitting under my covered front porch with Tom, a small Brownie man, who is seated on the edge of the table next to me.  Sitting next to Tom is his lovely wife, Deirdre.  Tom, noticing the many mosquito bites on my arm, comments, “You surely are a grand feast for the mosquitoes, lad,”

“I can’t keep them off me,” I reply, scratching at my arms.

Tom smiles.  “You know, the mosquitoes leave us Faerie Folk quite alone.  You will not see a one of us running about waving our arms wildly in a panic, trying to keep them away from us.”

“That’s because in the human realm you’re mostly spirit.”

Tom laughs.  “No, no, that is not right, lad.  We are just as physical as you are.  We are just more in harmony with Creation all around us. We do not have as many conflicting thoughts rambling about in our heads as most humans do.  Quiet your thoughts.  Make them all peaceful and harmonious, and the mosquitoes will not take notice of you.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Tom, with a twinkle in his eyes, says, “Just give it a try.  Slow down your breathing and listen to the wind blowing through the trees.”

“What if there is no wind?” I ask, determined to be difficult.

“Then listen to your breath, which can sound like the wind brushing through the leaves, or maybe like waves coming in and flowing out from the seashore.”

“What if they keep biting me?”

Deirdre, smiling, replies, “Keep on trying.  You know with practice the mosquitoes will leave you alone.  They will stop noticing you sitting in your chair there.”

Tom gives her a playful nudge, “Or maybe, Deirdre, he is just too tasty for the mosquitoes to pass up.”  Looking at me, Tom adds, “Stop being so tasty to the mosquitoes, lad, and they will leave you alone.”

Deirdre rolls her eyes at her husband.  “Do not listen to his joking.  Keep practicing good, peaceful thoughts, and the mosquitoes will leave you alone.”

Tom adds, “Did you notice there have been no mosquitoes since you have been talking to us?”

Tom is right.  For the first time in days, the mosquitoes have left me alone.  Quietly we sit, enjoying our mosquito-free afternoon.



No Worries

Burdened with troubling thoughts, I watch the shadow puppets — made from the wind rattling leaves above — weave their tale of light and shadows upon the earth below.

I sense quiet movement around me.  Looking up, I see a group of Brownies and Brees, both women and men.  Their small hands are outstretched, palms outward toward me.  These small folk are singing so softly that I can barely hear them, their song softly weaving with the wind.

“What are you doing? I ask.

“Singing your worries out of you, and casting them upon the wind, so they will be carried far away.”

“Won’t someone else get them?” I ask, a bit worried that my troubled thoughts will end up wrapping themselves around someone else’s head.

The Brownie man laughs, “No, lad, no need to fret about that.  All that will be left of your thoughts will be the sound of the wind blowing through the trees and across the fields.”

“Should we continue?” asks a Bree woman.  I nod my head, feeling their peace flow over me.  Listening to their song, I look up and see the wind chasing clouds across the sky, like waves rolling over a sky sea of bright blue.

The Weed Whacker

To hide from the hot summer sun, my dog and I sit down beneath a maple tree.  My young dog, still a furry toddler, gives a few half-hearted tugs on her leash.  Sensing finally that I am serious about my sitting, she lays herself down at my feet.

I sense the Dryad within the tree behind us is aware of our presence.  After a quick hello to us, she returns to her blissful gathering of information from the other trees around her via her wind-whispering leaves above and her deep earth-burrowing roots below. Resting beneath her friendly shade of leaves, I almost slip into a dream.

Suddenly, a startled bird cries out with two surprising human-like screams, as my neighbor begins weed whacking his small kingdom next door.  My dream hastily fades away, replaced by the grinding, tearing noise of the weed whacker ripping at the green grass.

My dog, unable to contain her boredom any longer, tugs at her leash, wandering off in search of a new adventure as she drags me along in her wake.