Posted in Fun, Great Outdoors

Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part III

(Continued from Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part II  which happens to be continued from Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part I)

. . . Quite recently, I was enjoying a ramble around an oblong lake not far from home.  It was a grey lake, reflecting the grey sky of autumn on one of the last days before winter clasps its icy grip.  It was not the type of day one would expect to see delightful artifacts, and yet I could not deny my eyes.

08.2012.34.pThere, among the grasses were ruffled lavender petticoats, garnished at the hems with beads of gold.  How amusing was this to me, that I nearly forgot to snap a photograph before continuing my recreation.  I puzzled over why several lavender petticoats would be hanging in a group amongst the grasses, but relinquished my query to that of the elfin customs of which I would never be privy.

Along the way, there were birds that called, and rustlings in the leaves and other things that caught my ear.  Inasmuch as I would love to have heard a whisper or a miniature giggle, I did not.

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What I heard was a long, low groaning sigh.  My feet solidified in place.  My own beating heart pummeled against my chest.  I turned ever so slowly and thought perhaps I had distinguished a movement, a shifting, yet perhaps it was altogether nothing.  Crooking my head to the left, and then slowly to the right, in disbelief I realized a face, interrupted mid-yawn.  The old oak had a long nose and a toothless grin.  I had, undoubtedly surprised him the moment he surprised me.  I came to realize the woodlands were filled with all sizes of creatures, both hidden and obvious, if only to the eager eye.

There are other indications of the magical world, if you are open to receiving them; a washbasin of rainwater for a tiny sprite, made from a brilliantly colored fungus; an opening in the side of a tree for looking out of, or escaping into.

08.2012.69.pOne of my favorite finds was a landmark beneath my feet, in the middle of the path.  A marker.  A monument.  Perhaps of a great victory of battle.  Or a memorial of a considerable tragedy.  Perhaps a beacon, a proclamation of love won or lost.

As I draw to the close of my admission, believe or don’t believe, but know this about your narrator.  Of that which I have not seen nor heard with my own senses, there is little in which I regard as true.  Reader, I council you to keep a keen awareness of your faculties at all times.  This is, of course, wise advice for those interested in safekeeping one’s self from trauma.  It is, however, a requirement for those of us who wish to keep our heart open to the possibilities that surround us all.

The end.

Or the beginning, as it may be . . .

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Peace . . .

Posted in Fun, Great Outdoors

Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part II

(Continued from Wee Folk in the Woodlands Part I)

08.2012.15.p copy. . . It wasn’t until I happened on a window, closed and latched from the inside that I began to realize the trees were, in point of fact, inhabited.  I knocked politely with the tip of my finger, and received no response.  The residents were either not at home, or waiting noiselessly inside until all uninvited guests had cleared.   I rapped on the window again, and called “yoo-hoo” to anyone inside.  Only the wind answered with its “whooo-ooo” suggestion to move along.  And so I did.

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Quite some time passed before I gave any more thought to the window and small openings I had found on my walks.  It was midsummer, while studying the crops at a local garden, that I was taken aback to see what appeared to be a pair of little wings.  Scrutinizing the fragile crescents posessing such a small wingspan, I surmised the owner could fit comfortably within the palm of my hand.  I wondered if they hadn’t been hung out to dry in the hot July sun after catching moisture from the morning dew.  There were, as I investigated, quite a few of the tiny pair, but to my dismay, not a faerie in sight.

With my mind’s eye awakened, you might think it quite likely for me to dream up all sorts of things that weren’t really there.  DSCN1467There might have, after all, been several pair of eyes upon me at any given moment.  Such as it was, I recoiled suddenly when an angry troll popped out to glare at me!  Envision my relief upon seeing that it was only a magenta flower, being worked over quite thoroughly by an orange bug.  I laughed at my foolishness as the insect crawled up and over the troll’s pointy head.  In my curiosity, I had let my imagination become completely unrestrained.  After watching the bug on its steadfast mission for a moment or two, I deemed it time to continue my hike.

DSCN1460Somewhere along my meandering another wonder drew me in.  To my astonishment, suspended from a vine, was a charming pair of the tiniest slippers made of the most delicate material, in a most exquisite shade of pink.  Remembering the troll I had conjured, I analyzed the slippers carefully lest I make the same misinterpretation.  Nevertheless, the two hanging drops of pink were indeed dainty pixie slippers, suspended on a tendril of green.

Please know that at no time did I lose sight of the fact that I had not, in reality, caught a glimpse of any wee folk in the vicinity.  The only rationale I would propose is that they are small beings and in danger of being snatched up by small children, or run down by plucky rat terriers.   We humans being human, perhaps it is in their best interest to stay concealed.  Man has a propensity to regard small creatures as insignificant until rendering them extinct, at which time he will finally understand the magnitude of their importance.

It was true, however, that had I seen one of the wee folk dodging furtively beneath a leaf, or escaping down a secluded burrow, it would no longer have taken me by surprise.  I had become a believer, and as such, a prospector of mythical creatures living alongside us, yet disguised from view.

(Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part III)

Posted in Fun, Great Outdoors

Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part I

Pixies exist.  I will admit that I, too, was skeptical.  Yet as sure as the sun shines and winds blow, pixies, along with sprites, elves, gnomes and other wee folk, inhabit the earth.  I present to you, here, the irrefutable evidence of such beings.  If you can tell me, in the end, you don’t believe, I beseech of you to close the page; seek out your imagination, and resurrect what remains of it . . .

Once upon an uneventful afternoon, in the most dreary time of year, after autumn undresses its fiery gown and lays it wrinkled on the ground, I found myself on a woodland walk.  My furry companions far ahead of me, I stepped along the well-worn trail until I heard something to the right of me.  The sound, being of a scurrying type and not an alarming type, did not beckon me to stop.  Rather there was something I saw that turned my head not once, but twice, and brought me to a standstill.

12.2.2012.14It wasn’t something one would see if one hadn’t been looking, but having been coaxed by a rustling through the crisp leafy floor of the woods, I saw it.  Exactly what I saw was not intelligible upon first glance, but having taken the second, became immediately clear.  There, beneath and around the base of a nearby tree was a well-worn path much like the one I trod.  Yet this was a miniature path, fit for tiny feet, tucked under a branch, and leading seemingly nowhere.

Had this event occurred only in my deepest imagination, I might not have taken out my camera and snapped a photo.  I later scoured the pixels for a camouflaged face, or the unobscured hem of a miniature coat, to no avail.  There remained only the trail leading nowhere around a tree like any other.

DSCN1238Having had my curiosity piqued, on subsequent meanderings through the woods, I became much more aware of irregularities within the familiar landscape.  There were, at the base of many a tree, openings.  One might imagine a passageway, an access to underground tunnels, or a series of elevations within the tree.  One might, indeed, imagine any number of things beyond the deep, dark opening in the bottom of any ordinary tree.  And I, possessing a healthy imagination, conjured up a number of stories, each more fascinating than the one before . . .

Wee Folk in the Woodlands, Part II