Season of the Witch

Halloween is the holiday closest to my heart. A season without the hustle and bustle of other far more celebrated holidays. The ones highly associated with commercialism, a gaggle of stressors, the swift loss of patience, and skyrocketing bank account balances.

With Halloween comes little stress, and heaps of spooky musings

the tricks and treats

the unsuspecting scares 

the tender lumplings everywhere

the witching hours

the warm jack-o'-lanterns glow

an eerie tale of Poe just short of the evening's rest

those flickering lights

the sounds of ghosts, ghouls

and bumps in the night

a black and orange frosted cake

the haunty houses

sprinkled with golden leaves to rake

the spooks, hobgoblins, 

and long-legged beasts

saddle up to the banquet and indulge in the feast

a late night stroll
beneath a full Hunters moon
a season to go mad for, as it shall cease fairly soon

the fun and abandon

a rich, dark cabernet

leave the world behind you
to be an 'otherbeing' this day

Enjoy the remainder of the month long celebration, my Fall-weathered treasures.

Don't let the spooks get to you, and don't forget to pick up every stitch.

x
        

Flowersniffy

You needn't be in such a hurry,

with the dog-eat-dog, push and shovey world out there.

Nip a quickymoment in time and space to quiet the mind,

and listen gingerly to the silent sounds of change. 

It's time to wake up and smell the blooming blossoms, sweetheart.

The sachet of sugared scents should give you just enough reason to smile.

Friday Happies

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Sandwich Architecture

It is said there's a spread between two slices of bread,

it's a well-mastered practice that's taken widespread.

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In lieu of plain toppings, stacked with kindness instead,

 with fillings of gladness and fresh green go aheads,

and a melty-good smile, you'll surely drop dead.

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Stuffed with spells of magic to make one heels over head,

a saucy-bit messy, if it's tidy lunching you dread.

You may even catch a sliver of spirited red.

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I built you a sandwich in fond reminisces,

topped with leaflets of love, and covered in kisses.

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With seasons of savory, and just a touch sweetened, 

but most above all, it longs to be eaten.

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Dragon Tales

...and now for your lighthearted amusement,

I invite you to have a rest.

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Feel a smitch of the wanderlust,

and let's play pretend.

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 Escape to the place in your head where things are far more interesting.

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Where the great ancient animals and flying beasts reside.

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That floaty spot somewhere between fantasy and reality

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in the sheltered company of a friend who knows your innermost secrets through the dustiest corners of your addled soul.

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A sanctuary where the summer dangles beneath a lattice-white, clouded sky. 

where you can safely take flight upon the wings of change.

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and flyaway, faraway North, to a wintery kingdom,

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to nestle within the safe harbor of a frostbound obsidian.

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and should your dragon give you flame or smoke along the way,

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catch him swiftly behind a spirit glass,

like a trapped foxglove fairy.

Tell the creature to speak his secrets, and you'll return him from whence he came.

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For dragons are easily-affected creatures,
and perfectly suited for fancy daydreams.
  

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Fairy tales are more than true.

Not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be defeated.

~Neil Gaiman

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What is your dragon, and why haven't you conquered it?

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She is made from books and butterflies

She is made from things tucked away into fairytales.

Things lost in fables and folklore of long ago.

In sleety forests where in the company of kind dwarves, forest wolves, and mothergoats, winter roses
bowed before the crescent moon to bid their fond farewells.

In a sanctuary of talking animals, the mouse queen, 

and a honored polar bear ice king.

In a place where lovestruck fools, and men with blue beards, would gather beneath a fluttering, winged-horse sky.

A time when a princess would find herself lost in sleep for a hundred years

A time for imperium silver crystals, and dark-sparkled curiosities.

Beyond the black rainbows, to a place of respite, where the spirit is swallowed up in reading books,

and can safely drown in a sea of prose and poetry.

And only the butterfly knows truth and virtue, for her wings are transparent,
as she drinks from the tips of flowers,
and views the world through kaleiodoscopic eyes.

Before long, she'll arise from the lavender dust

with wings of gold to carry her through the hurricane waters.

...and she shall have the steadfastness to know,

the only sounds that can come from a cage of butterflies, are the squawks of sorrow.

all images copyright of Kirsty Mitchell Photography

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Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily... Life is but a dream

The wind, now brisk, has led the thoughts to wander off to snugweathered places and row your boat fantasy.

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Headspace fully occupied with the sort of thinking that allows the senses no rest.

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Wandering, drifty illusions to places of summer dreams, 

where one can escape to a shiny-weathered habitat.

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The kind found in digital-filtered images of places uncovered by travel, 

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or by nosediving into a sidewalk painting of the Mary Poppins sort, by way of a Dick Van Dyke dismount.

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The seasons change,

and so do we.

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I hope one winter you'll find the courage to dance with the leaves, as they flurry to the call of the frosty tide.

I hope one spring you'll find a sanctuary stuffed with larger than life dreams.

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I hope one summer you'll find a way to sail home, 

and not get lost along the way.

I hope one fall you'll fall in ridiculous, maddening, can't-stand-a-minute-without-the-other kind of love.

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although I can't guarantee there will be smooth sailing.

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This is your journey,
no one can walk through the seasons for you.

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So dream on, dreamy rowboat.

One day, you too shall find yourself well-seasoned,

and you'll see that the cold can be just as lovely.

x