CINDERELLA

MUSINGS ON THE MAGIC OF FAIRYTALES

& a poem for the coming of Spring...

s n o w  s h o w e r s
 

there comes a steady

'plip - plip'

heard from the undergrowth.

and the trees are
quivering
loosing
snow showers:

shimmering shards,
sun catchers...

spring is on her way.

There is a reason children are drawn to fairytales;
and, here, I may pose that the reason is thus:

That the mind of a child is less decided upon the nature of reality. Thus, children able to entertain the ideas of mysteries yet to be solved, alternate histories, and magic unseen.

Then again, more and more adults are awakening to find that, they too, possess child-like qualities. As adults, we can still recollect those days of curiosity, can still see the world from a place of new beginnings, and we may still look around us with a sense of awe and wonder.

For, aren't we all children, on this ancient Earth? A young species, still learning about our world.

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“The world is full
of magic things,
patiently waiting
for our senses to
grow sharper.”

— W. B. YEATS

OLIVE TREE

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An idea taken from:

WALDEN

~ by Henry David Thoreau

“Instead of calling on some scholar, I paid many a visit to particular trees...
the black birch;
the hornbeam;
the false elm...
These were the shrines I visited both summer and winter.”

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Here is a grand idea, an ancient idea, and one that I have fallen in love with:

To visit the trees.
 

I made a date with this particularly ancient olive tree. We met in the mountains of Montenegro, where the old olive tree had put down roots, over two-thousand years ago.

When you visit a tree, you must listen - deeply and openly, to hear what wisdom the tree offers. Slow your mind and body, thinking of the rhythm and cycle of the tree - it's lifespan is long, often longer than our own. Our days may feel like minutes to a tree, just as our weeks could feel like years to a butterfly. In that slow space, we might come to understand more of the wise whispers of trees...

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🌿 🌿 🌿

 THE MUSINGS OF TREEBEARD

“‘I am not going to tell you my name, not yet at any rate.’
A queer half-knowing, half-humorous look came with a green flicker into his eyes. ‘For one thing it would take a long while: my name is growing all the time, and I’ve lived a very long, long time; so my name is like a story. Real names tell you the story of things they belong to in my language, in the Old Entish as you might say. It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time saying anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to.’”

— THE TWO TOWERS, J. R. R. TOLKIEN

WHISPERS

~ by Ayla Nereo

“To receive your whispers
tender breath-keepers
givers of life to these lungs
may I open my ears and
surrender
what can you tell me
how can I tend you
how can I tend to the ones
who pour life through these lungs…”

SEA, STONE & STRAW

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cold stillness

and old incense

spun in swirls to the dark ceiling.

a portico

and me,

standing on the edge,

inhaling as if I could breath that smell into

the vaults of my memory

.
. . .
.

THE SMELL OF THE INCENSE :

charred bracken

stained wood

lavender fields

and musty velvet.

.
. . .
.

there was hay on the floor,

like a carpet of gold threads -

worn by shuffling feet, till the warp is all bare.

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