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I have been busy creating new stories filled with magic and enchantment to the core. New cover, new stories and a total of 157 pages filled with delightful magical stories that you won’t want to miss!
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“They who dream by day
are cognizant of many things
which escape those who
dream only by night.”
- Edgar Allen Poe


Winter cry



Snow has wilted under rain; a frigid rain. Splish splash, my feet stumbling in dark puddles of water.  This is not the rain I was born with—the balmy pouring rain of the tropics. Shall I pack my suitcase and leave this place to wander the land? Like a gypsy. Like a fairy gypsy forever in search of light.

Where do the Fae wait? Somewhere amidst the greenest of grasses abetted by the sun.  If you ever come to my garden in spring time you’ll see what I mean. In the light of the moon with a soft breeze blowing through the trees and flowers, if you are very quiet and cautious, you may witness the fairies laughing and dancing in a small clearing. I have seen the circles they leave in the grass from their joyful dancing on many occasions.

People once believed that mushrooms growing in a circle followed the path made by fairies dancing in a ring. But mushrooms are nowhere to be seen in my garden these days (why isn’t everybody going crazy over the vanishing of wild mushrooms?) Winter and dark cold nights don’t allow for this. And that’s the reason why faeries have to follow the way of the geeses during the arrival of fall. 

They go away in the hope of finding beautiful meadows where the sun shines, and there are many thousands of flowers. The fairies that are left behind in this cold frigid land are never happy (have I said that before?) Poor dears, battling in the gale! Hail and ice, and ice and hail.

Meeting in the Magical Forest




I live here.
This is my home
Deep in the magical woods I live...
The way is dark,
The light is dim,
But now there's you and there's me.
We shall meet for tea under the Magical Tree. 
Kindred spirits are always together
We walked always in beauty, it seemed to me.
Let’s get together and feel all right 
But I am here; you are there—two seas,
Five thousand rivers,
One universe apart. 
Feeling that in some way we’ve already met in our dreams
A thousand years ago? 

Perhaps if we walked too far and
Wondered loud enough we could somehow get together for tea?
I’d look to my left
You’d look to your right
Two roads merging in the wood we’d see.
And there are places like this where time stands still,
Where old oaks leads into delicious green darkness
They have kept a piece of me, a dream of you.

But we shall  hasten over the bad
And settle upon the good. 
Hurry!
No time to waste!   
At the stroke of midnight.
Upon our steps to the enchanted forest...
Luminous white and shimmering wings will take us there
Swirling whirling under the moon.
Upon petals so late at night to guide our way by magical lights.
Tip toeing out in forest deep, guiding us while half asleep.
Flitting up and down our dreams,
Reaching out to take our hand… 
 
Wouldn't you love to come along too?  Oh but we must hurry… we shall meet for tea at the stroke of midnight.  Magic cannot wait.  Be ready!  Alba, the white owl, will be waiting for you to guide you to the enchanted forest, where me and my friends will dance around in the forest after our tea.



THE CROW-WITCH


Right at the break of dawn the other morning, one of the crow-witches who lives deep in the privet beyond our garden decided to materialize into her human form… I was there to watch it all unfold and I have the remnants of proof from the tales to show you…

The day had scarcely started to awaken, but as usual I was already out in the garden weeding; already singing low in my baritone morning voice, when all of a sudden out of my peripheral vision I saw something… a wind of a diffused shadow; a chill hanging from the air.  I turned around and there she was—a witch all clad in black going up the hill.  

More curious than I should had been frightened, I stopped what I was doing and stood very quiet watching this strange apparition ascend the deserted hilly road across our little white cottage.

When the witch reached the top of the hill, she stood on the middle of the road like a stone of the fields.  No movement.  No sound.  At this point I immediately knew I was up for something big… something of the mystery variety if you know what I mean… so I grabbed my camera, which by the way, I always carry close to me in case something big, small, interesting or just unexpected in the most mundane moment come into my view, and began to stalk the Crow-witch who lives in the Privet.

After a short while, as she still stood on the middle of the road, the demeanor of the witch changed drastically.  I watched her search for something or someone in the nothingness of the new day; turning her body towards the four cardinal points—north, east, south and west.  What followed later I’m still trying to understand. 

Madness got control of her body and features, and she started to make strange expressions and hand gestures, motioning at things, clawing her hands at times towards the sky and finger-pointing at some invisible someone that only she could see. 

I tried to listen from my post to whatever the witch was saying as best as I could, always extra careful not to disturb her, lest she’d see me and ripped me open in a zilch… but for much as I tried, I couldn’t hear a single word coming out of her mouth… only silent words in gestures and madness incomprehensible.

Judging by the witch’s demeanor, gestures and finger pointing, however, I could tell she was livid… furious at someone.  She was a very disturbed soul indeed.  She fumbled and fought.  I watched in total silence.  Only my heart bursting in and out; not wanting to move… but oh I had to!  I had to take a better picture of the witch from a better angle before she would turn into her formal crow self again and with it the magic gone forever.   

I stepped away and run inside as fast and as quietly and I could.  Here and there I hid behind blinds and windows taking pictures.  I traced the witch’s movements as she stood on the road across our master room still fighting with her invisible someone.  But my lenses would not adjust properly and pictures were coming all blurry.  I had to run back into the backyard, where I could see her with no barriers and try again! 

It only took me the few minutes from our bedroom to the garden, but when I got there the witch was nowhere to be found now.  Where did she go?  In total disbelief, I searched for her.  No one. She was nowhere to be seen. I even walked up the hill to see if perhaps she had walked down the road below, but there was no one.  Only the strange chill still hanging from leaves and trees and skies that seem to be saying:  "Strange, unexplainable, mysterious things".

But then again, nothing could be too irrelevant or too strange on a day like this. Magic is everywhere. After all, this is Halloween.  And anything and everything can happen on Halloween.

A WITCH’S DWELLING

Have you even been inside a witch’s cottage? I didn’t think so! Would you like to visit one? Oh I think you might like to... Yes? OK then, come on!

All witch’s cottage are not the same. As every flower is different from each other so are each witch from each other; and so are the dwellings they choose to live in. I once met a witch who lived in a beautiful lot on the mountainside overlooking undisturbed forested mountains that housed many homes. Her home had spring water and solar energy. So close to people she lived; yet, nobody knew they had a witch for a neighbor!

But that’s not the norm, usually. More likely, you’ll find witches living deep in the forest. Most of the witches I’ve known lived there—in the forest; among the tall ancient trees that at night wake up and stretch, and blink their eyes and talk to each other and even move around.


To pass unnoticed, and to prevent being discovered, witches may construct magical house which may have the illusive form of a regular den or a burrow; like the dens raccoon and other small creature would use for temporary shelter. 

The technique of camouflage is used by the animals for survival purposes and to avoid being captured by the predators, but witches are the supreme masters of disguise, and by camouflaging their homes they demonstrate their unique, amazing and diverse ability to deceive; blending themselves as they do with the environmental surrounding, or hiding in order to maintain their survivals.


It’s been known that witches sometimes like to build houses with amazing similitude to the common bird’s nest you’d find in tree branches, or a hole in tree trunks, a rabbit hole in the ground, and even a spider’s web on bushes, and any other places you think an animal may be living… many other sites are imitated, or used as an illusion, including piles of leaf litter, the crooks of trees, old squirrel nests, or even piles of reeds, or a shelter of vegetation or mudflats piles… but don’t let appearances fool you. Watch the signs and activities around these shelters and you’ll see what I mean.
 

Inside that apparent burrow or rabbit hole hides a totally different world. Once you cross the entrance of a witch’s humble burrows or dens (if you can make it through) you’ll find yourself inside the most lovely of cottages, with windows bathed in sunshine and mysterious rooms filled to the brim with the normal witch’s cornucopia; such as spell potions and magic concoctions and bottles of liquid remedies and weaved baskets filled with aromatic plants and dried herbs, tonics and old caldrons and ancient human skulls and bones...
 

How would I know about these things?—you might be wondering. I know, because once, when lost in the forest, I happened upon one of those ground burrows I‘d mentioned.
 

The hobbit house I saw emerged from the earth as I was making my way through the thick underbrush and tall ancient trees that swayed together, exuberantly, with branches and tendrils that seemed to be reaching out to each other. 

It was getting dark and the only shelter I could thought of to spend the night was the hobbit house; which, by the way, it was really just a rabbit hole—minuscule and muddy. So I squeezed myself almost flat through the tiny entrance and got in. And what do you know!

I was render speechless with that I saw! No. Not the nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with worms and the oozy smell I was expecting... oh no! It was the most glorious little cottage I had ever seen, with walls and foundations made from stone, and all of the flooring, finishing, windows, plumbing; virtually everything inside, was re-purposed from scrap materials from the forest.


A wood burner heated the cottage, and an ingenious system that piped cool air in from underground kept the refrigerator at an optimum temperature. A skylight filled the small home with natural light, water was sourced from a nearby spring, and solar panels provided all of the necessary electricity. 

It was an amazing little hobbit house, or a witch’s house, and I liked it so much that I even asked the witch who owned it if at least I could come visit whenever I wanted. My wish was granted, and even now, after so many years since my discovery, I still come here from time to time just to relax and just be. It’s pure bliss!

I wish I could draw you a map to help you find your way here; but I’m not allow to… and we know better than disobeying a witch’s wish; right? I certainly won’t want to do that! Wishing you a magical week, whether shimmering with stardust or just your glowing selves!
 
(Image source: Arwensgrace and Internet)

Lechuzas

I have this affinity with birds… a special connection if you may.  I must have been a bird in a previous life; if not, I should fly with them one day.  

I love birds.  Love them all the same, but my favorite above all my favorites would have to be the mysterious and ever so controversial “Lechuza”, or “Mochuelo”.

The Gypsies call her "Ghost of the Nigh"—the owl, with its large eyes and mysterious ways. 


When I was a little girl growing up in a faraway land, I was terrified of them. Folks in our little rural community were very superstitious. They believed that the presence of an owl could only meant one thing: That a ghost was lurking nearby. Thus, Lechuzas were detested and much feared. Lechuzas were harbingers of death. Mothers and grandmothers would teach their children to hide from them, and fathers and grandfathers would lock every window and every door of their houses at the stroke of midnight to prevent bad luck from coming in whenever a Lechuza would cross the night sky.


My sister Lissette and I were never ever to look into a Lechuza’s large unmovable eyes and gargoyle-like face. And so, whenever they would fly low over the tin roof of our humble little house at night we would cover our ears and hide under our blankets trembling with fear. The eerie-sounding cries of the Lechuzas used to send shivers up our spines.

Isn’t it funny how we humans would outgrow our fears as we, through the years, learn, understand and get gradually exposed to the sources of our anxieties? Ah yes, I love owls, and I have them everywhere in my garden; only they’re not real ;) 

I keep dreaming and hoping that one day I will see a beautiful owl perch high in our Spruce Pine... silly me an owl in my urban garden! Oh well, one can always dream, right? 

A magical garden


My garden is a very special place… small magical beings live here. My garden is my joy and refuge, and it is also my favorite place to relax, play and pick roses...You would find me here on any given summer's day dreaming silly dreams on soft cool grasses under the trees...

Birds would fly down the trees to keep me company as I doze off into dreamland enchanted by their songs. Ah yes, the difference between common everyday living and wonderful magical living is the difference between being here, in the garden, and being somewhere else.
 
Anything can happen here; I mean anything magical. And it will! You would hear the angry voice of god in thunder, spirits would materialize in bubbling waters, owls would be the embodiment of wisdom, snow would be home to trolls and winter fairies, and if you would pay close attention to your surroundings you would hear voices speaking to you from stones, plants and animals. And all because of the contact with nature and the profound emotional energy that this symbolic connection supplies. But of course, you don't have to believe me if you don't want to...

This is also the place where magical things would appear out of nowhere, and the impossible would become possible... who would've thought that the Ivy could grow old silver pots amidst its dark mysterious leaves?

Or who would have guessed that bushes hide magical doors that would transport you to enchanting worlds outside your world?
 
Ah yes, the only inconvenience of having such a delightful magical door in your garden is not having the key to unlock it. Yes, I’ve lost the magical key to the magical door! And I am now desperately looking for it.

I have searched every imaginable place you can think of... my friends the rabbits have faithfully followed me everywhere trying to help me find it, but optimism is fading away fast.

You see, without this key I cannot go back to Hollow Woods ever again, and I won't be able to be transported to Arabella's world of mysteries and illicit love again... and as you can remember, I have a story to finish. So I must go back and learn as much as I can so that later I can come back and relate everything I'd seen...
 
Have you, by any change, seen this key anywhere in your garden? Hopefully, you’d know of some nice gnome or fairy in your garden that would be willing to come help find the key to my magical door? Oh I do hope so!
 

A troll by the name of Barbegazi lives here too. As some of you may know, snow trolls don’t never ever come out of their winter burrows deep down under the ground during warm weather. But because anything can happen here (and it would!), you may be lucky and find him strolling the gardens, proudly exhibiting his lovely Sedum Spurium hair, which by the way it has grown beautifully this spring!
 
Oh my dears, magic is real... so very real.  Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live.
 

Moon Child



The moon has always held a special fascination for me. When I was a little girl growing up in a far, faraway land, I would go stand by the window and wait for the moon to come look for me...

As soon as she appeared I was summoned out to the garden...

I was sure if I looked at the moon for a long time I could see things no one else could. The moon must have mystified me, because on those nights when only a narrow crescent of the moon was seen, I could see the rest of it faintly outlined, and could also see how that part of the moon, half hidden from our sight, illuminated the entire earth... it was a magical time, a time to dream and to stretch out my arms and touch the very moon. Wind, rain or snow I was always there; waiting for the moon to invite me walk the night in her silver shone...

I want to tell you the night knows this, that the moon dressed in her pearly dress can swift you away in the endless sky, that it can carry you from star to star and swing you to sleep in a cradle made of silvery light... but would you believe me? 

What do you see when you look at the moon? Do you think the shadows look like a face? The Japanese see a rabbit in the dark patches on the moon. I see butterflies patterns as it draws nearer, and I see serenity, tranquility, mystery, and intrigue.  I see a promise--a fresh new start.

I love the tender brilliance of the moon casting shadows across the garden from so far away...

I remember vividly how I used to be in awe of the moon following us home after church. How could it do that? I used to love that it would do a slow dance across the sky every night, always surprising me where it would end up...

As I grew older, I realized that it always danced the same dance. A dance from one side to the other, consistent in its course... like a good mariner steering through the seas from one shore to another, from sunset to sunrise...

Sitting here tonight in the stillness of my cozy cottage watching the moon sending its light through the window, patterning the garden with shadows, adding character to the night, a wondrous tale is revealed to me...

Tonight, I'll wish upon the moon, not a star, but the moon. Your wishes would have more hope of coming true, for the moon is brighter, and bigger...
 
Child Moon by Carl Sandburg: The child's wonder at the old moon Comes back nightly. She points her finger to the far silent yellow thing shining through the branches filtering on the leaves a golden sand, crying with her little tongue, "See the moon!" And in her bed fading to sleep with babblings of the moon on her little mouth.

The cottage in my dreams...


I live here
This is my home...


But you’re there—across the world from me!
We must meet for tea sometime.
Perhaps tonight
At the stroke of midnight?
Oh but we must hurry, there’s no time to waste!
The dark is rising,
You must pay heed to the riddle
The instructions are given:
Upon your steps to my enchanted forest...
Luminous white and shimmering wings
Swirling whirling under the moon.
Upon petals so late at night to guide your way by magical lights.
Tip toe in forest deep, guiding you while half asleep.
Flitting up and down your dreams,
Reaching out to take your hand…
Any idea who I’m sending to escort you all the way to Hollow Woods? You guessed it right! Alba, the white owl of course! Hope you’d come! Oh, and would you let me know if you were able to see Alba in your dreams, or maybe somewhere in your garden? I’d love to know!
    Alba

     

Ancestors

“I let my head fall back, and I gazed into the Eternal Blue Sky. It was morning. Some of the sky was yellow, some the softest blue. One small cloud scuttled along. Strange how everything below can be such death and chaos and pain while above the sky is peace, sweet blue gentleness...


 I heard a shaman say once, the Ancestors want our souls to be like the blue sky.”
― Shannon Hale, Book of a Thousand Days