A Summer’s Day in Winter

The gift of a pleasant summer’s day has come to us in winter.  In the distance, a neighbor’s heavy earth moving equipment goes suddenly, blessedly silent.  I can hear once again the songs of birds, roosters crowing, and the liquid churning of the spring below.

Soon, another neighbor runs what sounds like a gravel tossing machine down his long driveway, hidden behind the trees.  Just as birds have their colorful songs, and the stream has its own beautiful song, man also has his own song.  On this day, that song is the sound of rumbling, clacking, chain rattling, tree cutting, earth tearing machinery.

Why can’t we, for a time, put away our machines? If we don’t, the Earth may bring them to rest for us, for a time so long that our iron dragons (as the Faerie call them) will turn to rust and finally crumble into dust.  Perhaps then we will listen to the songs of Mother Earth.  Perhaps then we can create a new song of our own, a song so beautiful that even the birds will stop to listen and join with us in harmony.

A Shiny Stone

A rainstorm can make a common stone shine like a beautiful gem accidentally dropped from a pirate’s treasure chest.  Sometimes such a sparkling stone will cry out to be picked up and admired, while other stones just want to be admired from afar.

Always ask a stone’s permission first before picking it up.  Stones can be quite unhappy if they are picked up when they just want to be left alone.  After you are done admiring the stone, please place it back on the earth in the exact same position where you found it.

If you become so enamored with a stone’s beauty that you wish to take it home, please first always ask the stone if it wants to come live with you.  Do not take the stone with you if you don’t get a really good, happy feeling about taking the stone.  When in doubt, put the stone back exactly where you found it.

Please remember to always treat every stone with respect, for stones are older than humanity.

Faerie Ring

At the bottom of a steep hill, above the sun-sparkling, rain-swollen tumbling stream, rests a small stone circle, a mini Stonehenge.  Built for the Faerie Folk some years ago, it is a sort of Faerie ring in stone.

The Faerie Folk certainly have more beautiful, wondrous, magical places to visit.  Still, I watch the wee ones gathered within the circle of stones, sometimes simply chatting; other times smoking their pipes, deep in thought, as they watch the ever-dancing stream below.

It is mostly the smaller Brownie and Bree folk, both women and men, who visit the circle, although I have been told the much taller Gnomes and Elves also visit there from time to time.  True, the Faeries have more magical places to be, but they still visit my little stone circle, for I built it out of my love for them.  They know this, and to return that love, they frequent the little stone circle.

They tell me that sometimes, in the late hours of the night when all the humans are asleep, the Faeries gather there to talk, to sing, to dance. They have extended an open invitation for my beautiful wife and me to join them there if we wish.  I hope someday we will both have enough magic to meet them at their gathering.