Autumn Twilight

I feel the fabric of magic in autumn.  Under the autumn twilight of the sun, it is easier for me to slip unaware into the faerie lands.

I was standing on top of a steep slope, looking down at my small stone circle that rests upon the embankment above a swiftly flowing stream. I noticed my small circle of stones shining golden beneath the twilight of the autumn sun. As I watched, each stone’s skin was shimmering, then breathing and stretching into a slow, lumbering, clockwise dance.

Suddenly, a blue jay screamed.  A crow chuckled.  I blinked, and the stones grew still.  But the magic remained with me like strands of a broken spiderweb brushing across my skin.


The Visit

A gentleman came to visit me while I was sitting beneath a tree.  I was in a meditative state listening to a hidden bird’s exquisite song and gazing down at the golden carpet of autumn leaves at my feet when I noticed a man standing next to me.  He was a slender man wearing a dark derby hat and his best Sunday frayed dark suit.  The man took off his derby and wiped sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief.  Replacing his derby upon his head, he asked, “Excuse me, but do you know where I might find Wilma?”

Looking at the man, I surmised he was a spirit due both to his clothing and to the fact that he looked like an old black and white photograph on a beautiful, colorful autumn day.  “She’s not here right now,” I answered, “but you can come back on Halloween night.  Perhaps she will be here then.”

The gentleman again removed his derby and wiped the sweat from his brow with his white handkerchief, before stuffing it into his pants pocket.  He seemed confused at my suggestion.  “Thank you kindly,” he replied, before vanishing.

A gnome man whispered to me, “Poor man.  He still thinks it is summer.  That is when he died so many years ago.”

“Which is why he kept wiping the sweat off his brow,” a gnome woman added.

Patting my shoulder, the gnome man continued, “‘Tis the season, lad, when the veils between the living and the spirit world get awful thin.”

That being said, I almost expected Wilma to appear at any moment.



Autumn Light

Sloan, a red-haired Brownie man sitting on the deck railing, points out, “It is easier to see everything as enchanted under the Autumn light.  That is because the Autumn light pulls back the curtain on the mundane things of your world.  You then see everything for what it truly is . . . enchanted.  You see, we faerie folk know nothing in Creation is truly mundane.  That is an illusion suffered by humans.  It is as if you are all under a sleeping curse from which you need to be awakened.  So wake up, the lot of you!”

Clapping his hands, he vanishes into the fading Autumn light.

Autumn Sleep

Beneath a rainy gray sky, the bright, rich Autumn colors of Mother Earth shimmer with their own inner Faerie light.  Within the damp grayness, a Maple tree bemoans the loss of even more golden leaves from her already thinning canopy.  With each gentle breeze, more of her trembling leaves are plucked from her branches to fall gently down to the carpet of gold surrounding her glistening trunk below.

A sudden strong gust of wind lifts the golden leaves into the air, forming a circle dance of wind and leaf.  For a moment, the swirling leaves become a golden cloak for an invisible Faerie queen before falling back down on the sparkling green grass.  The sighing breeze sings a lullaby to the sorrowful Maple tree.  Slowly, she drifts off to sleep, dreaming of Spring and newly budding leaves.

Autumn Twilight

In the twilight of autumn, it is easier to feel the loving presence of those family members, friends, or companion animals who have crossed into the spirit world before us.  Perhaps on this Halloween, or on All Souls’ Night, we will set the kitchen table with a favorite dessert or snack for our departed human loved ones and also include a treat for our furry, feathered or scaled spirit companion animals.  In our own way, let us celebrate the memory of their presence in our lives.

Look Again

“Everything is not as it appears, you know.”

“What?” I mumble, somewhat hypnotized by the rippling sunlight reflecting off the churning waters of the stream as it rushes past me.

“Take this narrow stream, for example,” says Tom, a doll-sized Brownie man standing next to me.  “In our realm, this is not a narrow stream, but a wide, roaring river.”

I see then that the stream has become a wide, roaring river, with Brownie and Bree Folk and small Merpeople swimming in its fast moving waters.  Somehow the swimmers avoid being struck by small Faerie boats built of leaf and wood, some with wind-filled sails and others powered by oars, which move quickly in the fast current down the river.

Hearing creaking noises, I look up to see a Gnome family walking behind a two-wheeled cart drawn up the steep hill by a brown and white pony.  The cart is filled with orange pumpkins.  A Gnome man with dark hair and a long dark beard is leading the pony up the hill by reins attached to a collar around the pony’s neck.  I notice there is no bit in the pony’s mouth, but the pony calmly follows behind the Gnome man, moving up the hill with just a simple tug of the reins on its collar.

Behind the cart walk three small children, two blonde-haired little girls and a dark-haired little boy.  Their job appears to be to keep the pumpkins from tumbling out of the cart.  Walking behind the children, I see a beautiful, blonde-haired Gnome woman.  They seem to be aware of my attention, for they all turn and wave at me.  I wave back, and then they vanish.

I find the roaring river has again turned back into a narrow, sunlight-filled stream.  I feel a tug on my pants leg.  Looking down, I see Deirdre, Tom’s lovely wife, smiling up at me.  “I think your human realm is slowly fading away.  Soon, within the next few years, your world will be less real than ours, and humans will have to learn to be happy in our world.  With God’s help, they will manage somehow.”

The wind suddenly blew hard, swirling leaves around me, and Tom and Deirdre were gone.

Autumn Cathedral

Sitting within a small cathedral of trees, I feel the presence of God.  Trees arch overhead with stained glass leaves in the colors of green and early autumn.  Above the trees’ crown of gently swaying leaves, the sun sails serenely through white clouds and blue sky.

The parishioners of this cathedral are shy, hidden birds singing sweet songs to God.  Squirrels scamper down the trees, genuflecting with their bushy tails before Mother Earth’s autumn leaf-covered altar.

Behind me in a tree, I hear a soft tapping sound.  Perhaps it is a woodpecker or maybe a faerie cobbler working on a shoe.

Here in God’s cathedral of trees is the sacred mystery of Creation.  Here among the trees is the presence of God.