Rose, Violet, & Scamp of Swain Woods

A continuation of the story of Swain Woods and the Fairies.

Rose bloomed brightly, the youngest fairy, she had a glow all her own.  Her cheeks were pink like they had been pinched by the morning dew or a blush from the sun.  She was the artist of the three fairies, an artist in her soul.  Creating beauty wherever she went, her hands just danced with delight.  Rose could turn a piece of bark or a twig into something of beauty.  Her baskets were used for storing their food and for capturing rainbows at the end of a rain storm.  Those honored to receive a gift from Rose treasured each gift with great appreciation.

You have met Violet earlier in my story.  Violet loved to dance in the woods, she would sway to the music coming from above for the birds sang a song just for her.  She cared deeply for the woods, her sisters, and for Scamp.  You could say she watched over them, just as big sisters do.  She had a voice like honey poured from a pitcher warmed by the sun.  She shared stories she remembered of their family long ago.  She treasured the memories and being the oldest shared them most freely.

Scamp was the Wood Nymph living nearby.  They say his name suited him well.  His eyes twinkled with delight and laughter was often on his lips.  He didn't miss a cup of tea or a song to dance by, for his heart was that of a happy soul.  He learned the sounds of the birds nearby and sometimes when a human passed by they thought there were birds nearby.  In some ways he was a trickster and those that knew him just delighted in being in his presence.  His laughter was infectious and made each fairies heart to sing.

These are the stories of my fairy friends of Swain Woods.
There is one more episode to come next week as we travel with the fairies and dream.

Daisy from Swain Woods

Do you remember the tale of Swain Woods a few months ago?
If you do a search with the word "Whimsey" you will find the first three parts.

This is a continuation of the story, a story I am sharing with you from my child's heart.

Daisy speaks softly, but shines in the sun; she is the middle sister, the creative one they say.

Daisy tiptoed softly over the mossy ground.  How she delighted in the warmth of the summer sun.  It would shine in speckled light through the branches of the tall fir trees.  The blue bird would come to sit nearby and sing just for Daisy, a song that caused JOY to bubble in laughter and smiles.  Daisy had a heart of gold and emanated happiness and a smile to my face each time I encountered her.  There was a special sweetness that surrounded her.  Some days she would sit in the meadow and make daisy chains for those around her.  Have you made a daisy chain, she would ask?  Her mama taught her long ago.  She would pick a basket of daisies, make slits in each stem, then thread the stems together and form a chain.  The chain was wrapped through her curls and created a crown worth all the golden colors in the world.  How I would love a chain of daisies sitting in my hair for it would make my heart sing and my toes to dance through the meadow.  It would be a remembrance of times sitting in the sun with this dear little fairy named Daisy.

Have you made daisy chains to delight your soul?

Swain Woods - Part 3

Violet told me about her sister, Rose and Daisy, and how much they cared for each other, for their parents had disappeared one day leaving them to care for themselves.  There was a whole community there to encircle them with love, to care for them and teach them the lessons of life.  They sheltered them from evil, from being scared in the dark.  They would stand over them as they slept and wrap them in soft leaves.  Bunnies would warm them on a cold winter night.  In the morning the dew would fill their acorn cups and a salad of newly unfurled ferns and freshly ripened strawberries would provide their morning brunch.

Soon it was time to dance.  As I ventured there more often, I asked about the darkness.  What was it there to fear for I only saw the light of day and it delighted my soul.  They told me of the evil one that sometimes came with the cloak of darkness.  When the moon was but a sliver, the darkness would appear.  Silently into the crevices of the woods it would permeate the night.  The stars would squeeze all the brightness they could shine to help the darkness disappear.

As long as the tiny sweet flower fairies kept their eyes on the stars and were sheltered in the nests, their hearts felt confident that tomorrow they would dance again.  You could hear a soft hum, a very sweet sound coming from the woods on those star lit nights.  It was a hum of happiness.  I knew if I also kept my eyes on the light of the stars, I would be safe from the cloak of darkness, the evil one would disappear.  I would wake to dance and sing another day.

Today there are houses built in Swain Woods.  I wonder if they ever find a fairy wing or hear the music there.

I hope you have enjoyed my little story.
It was fun for me to write these words and dream a bit.
Let us all keep dancing and singing.

 

Swain Woods - Part 2

 

As I ventured there more often I began to hear their song and there thanksgiving for the nests I left for them.  They sang songs of JOY, they laughed with a thrill that came from deep inside of them.  Their footsteps softly threaded there, but still the light step would sometimes make a twig snap or a flower sway.  Fairies were there, oh yes they were.  And we began to dance on that spongy ground and twirl in the quiver of the soft streams of light shining through the branches of the tall trees.  And my heart was happy.

On one day in the distant past I met Violet, at least that was the name I called her as she wore a skirt of purple, shaped with tiny petals.  She was more beautiful than anyone I had ever seen.  Her long chestnut hair flowed around her shoulders and she wore a crown of flowers across her forehead and circling her head.  A stream of light would shine through the branches and she would dance.  Sometimes she tiptoed oh so softly carrying with her cups made from acorn cups filled with the sweet nectar made from the violets and pine needles, a tea I will always remember, an elixir I am sure.  We would tuck into a cave under the fallen trees and sip as we shared stories of another day, another world just out of sight.  Her stories were a delight, full of intrigue, romance, and laughter.

Part 3 coming soon.

Swain Woods - Part 1

 

This story comes from the truth and fantasy of a young girl.  This happened to me as written, but with deviations into the dreams of that girl long ago.

Swain Woods was at the top of the hill, at the end of the road.  The road closed onto a narrow horse trail in the meadow full of tall grass and wildflowers.  It meandered near a house closed and gated with mystery.  As a young girl of 5 or 6 I could explore nearby, but not yet brave enough to follow the trail into the woods.

The woods had tall trees and I could see a darkness there.  Oh my heart desired to enter and explore, but yet something held me back.  Was it the darkness, the unknown?  Was it a sign of a time when I would walk into the darkness alone?

As I grew a little older and moved to the other side of the woods, I became a braver girl.  I also was a day-dreamer girl and dreamt of a day I would be brave enough to enter the woods, the darkness.  Yes, I would enter there one day alone to dream.  They would be the dreams of a girl of 8 or 9.  It was a place I knew I could venture alone, as my sister was not allowed to walk near the poison ivy there.  Poison ivy didn't cause the problems for me that it did for her.  So in my secret little joy I entered Swain Woods.  I followed the trail made by the horses.  I became an explorer that day.

Entering the woods the sun was often hidden behind the tall trees.  There was a damp coolness, a spongy cushion to the ground. The sounds of birds not usually heard enchanted my young ears and heart.  The hoot of the owl and the tapping of the woodpecker serenaded.  The fallen trees across the trail would create both bridges and tunnels, places to hide, and places to dream.

Occasionally a wild trillium or miniature iris was noticed growing in amongst the ferns.  I would collect moss, loose pieces of bark, twigs, and ferns to create nests for the creatures there.  What creatures, I wasn't sure; but I knew there was something present.  They were just out of sight, but I could feel them surrounding me in their song and their dance.

Note:  Since this is a long story, I have broken it into three parts.  I hope you enjoy my truth and fantasy of myself as a young girl.