“So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned.
Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever, in Never Never Land!”
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan: Fairy Tales
This one is not about fairies Thea, but quite funny.
Clooney the Clown
I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown Who worked in a circus that came through town. His shoes were too big and his hat was too small, But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all. He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes, He had a green dog and a thousand balloons. He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall, But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all. And every time he did a trick, Everyone felt a little sick. And every time he told a joke, Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke. And every time he lost a shoe, Everyone looked awfully blue. And every time he stood on his head, Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!" And every time he made a leap, Everybody fell asleep. And every time he ate his tie, Everyone began to cry. And Cloony could not make any money Simply because he was not funny. One day he said, "I'll tell this town How it feels to be an unfunny clown." And he told them all why he looked so sad, And he told them all why he felt so bad. He told of Pain and Rain and Cold, He told of Darkness in his soul, And after he finished his tale of woe, Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no, They laughed until they shook the trees With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees." They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks, They laughed all day, they laughed all week, They laughed until they had a fit, They laughed until their jackets split. The laughter spread for miles around To every city, every town, Over mountains, 'cross the sea, From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee. And soon the whole world rang with laughter, Lasting till forever after, While Cloony stood in the circus tent, With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent. And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT - I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT." And while the world laughed outside. Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.
Shel Silverstein was a Jewish Poet, Singer-Songwriter, Musician, Composer, Cartoonist and Screenwriter
One of his famous and funny quotes!
Tell me I'm clever, Tell me I'm kind, Tell me I'm talented, Tell me I'm cute, Tell me I'm sensitive, Graceful and wise, Tell me I'm perfect - But tell me the truth.
'Shroom for everybody! Incredible photographs show brightly-coloured fungi turning forests in the Blue Mountains into something out of a fairytale
Photographer Grant Turner has captured brightly-coloured fairytale mushrooms while foraging (top right) with family and friends in pine forests in the Blue Mountains, NSW. He said April is the perfect time of year to go mushroom picking, when there's been some rain but the weather is still warm. The group looks for milk saffron caps, brunt orange-coloured mushrooms which have an earthy texture and are sought after by many restaurants. They often cook mushroom pasta in the forest once they find them. Pictured bottom left is Finn Turner, 11, with one of the largest mushrooms.
Oh..I do hope there weren't any fairies under those mushrooms..Ann :)
Centuries ago, it was said in Ireland and Scotland that the fairies went into hiding under the hills. They were thought to have taken up residence within these hills or what are commonly referred to as burghs. Dozens of various Native American tribes have their own stories of little people from the hills and mountains. So it is almost inevitable that if you go to a rural mountain range or lonely, naturally-preserved hill that you will most likely be able to find real fairies.
You can go to a fairy burgh (hill) and leave an offering at the foot of the hill for the fairies. Knock three times on the side of the hill and then sit down a distance away from the hill. Visualize a protective circle around yourself and then watch the hill. You may be surprised to see dancing spirits emerge from the hill. You may be surprised to see that you have learned how to find real fairies.
Particularly hills and burghs with old trees or trails of toadstools are likely spots to find real fairies. The fairies may in fact be living within those hills, waiting for an open-minded individual such as yourself in order to emerge and strike up a conversation.
Taken from..exemplore.com (how to find real fairies)..
Author of The Lion..the Witch and the Wardrobe..
I'm that age already Thea.....Not only reading but writing....:)
Once upon a time in a darkened wood lived a group of writers, they would sit around the fire and share their experiences of years gone by of dragons, fairies, white witches and leprechauns. It was a lovely place, no media outlets here to annoy the peace of the woodlands. No wicked people came as their antennia was not sophisticated enough to get through the positive fields of love that protected the writers.
Then one day along came 'Wizard', he was known to the writers as the grandfather of all writers with mystical powers, some thought he was Merlin reincarnated, perhaps he is!
He moved furtively toward the group snuggled in the woodland shadows, absorbed in penning their thoughts on sheets of paperbark with charcoal tipped twigs oblivious to the world outside the circle of friends,and the warmth of the glowing fire.
His presence muffled by the sound of hooting owls and busy shuffling creatures foreging in the undergrowth ,he moved slowly toward them,
The soft moonlight bounced off the tiny droplets of magic dust falling from the fireflies spinning around his head ,lighting his way..
This Is the place he thought, I shall be welcome here...
The Wizard sees what others don’t see..he feels what others don’t feel..he understands what others don’t.. and because of this knowledge.. his face was wreathed in smiles as he approached the flickering light of the campfire and the happy band of story tellers ..
There was a stillness in the air..the friends were waiting for something.. athough they knew not what.. and.. it seemed as if a web of mystery hung over the wood..
They huddled together drawing closer and closer to the fire as the night air began to chill…sharing their stories and stopping now and then to listen to the magical sounds of the forest..
Suddenly..they froze..they felt something.. as only minds that are in tune can.. they sensed a friendly presence…and turned their heads in unison..peering into the darkness…
Standing before them was the White Witch! Such a tall and wonderous and magical person a favourite of all corners of the forest. 'She' was hovering above the fallen autumn leaves her halo glowing in the mist.
The white and silver robes were transluent, made from gossamer threads, her blonde hair was flowing in the breeze.
The writers stared in wonderment! What will she say, what news has befallen the woods?
'Don't be afraid' she said gently 'I am here today to convey the news from the spirit world' 'We have great news!'
Our friend The Wizard has won a mightly battle over my cousin Esmeralda.
As you all know she, Esmeralda has been evil in her attempts to destroy our woodlands here......she delights in destroying everything that is wonderous. She has no love in any part of her fibre. Esmeralda has many powers but they are all used in the negative. She has killed many of our woodland creatures over the year that have foraged out into the open spaces. Her evil knew no limitations.
The Wizard has her entombed in the rocks of Shingleton, only the wind may visit her, she is stone.
But you must remember that..............
A WINTER SOLSTICE STORY - THE YULE FAIRIES
A group of little Faeries huddled in their home deep under the roots of a giant oak tree. They were safe and snug in their tiny underground cave lined with dandelion fluff, bird feathers, and dried moss.
Outside, the wind blew cold and the snow fell softly down to cover the ground. “I saw the Sun King today,” the faerie named Rose said as she pulled her mossy cloak tighter about her. “He looked so old and tired as he walked off through the forest. What is wrong with him?
“The great oak said he’s dying” answered Daffodil.
“Dying? Oh, what will we do now?”, Little Meadow Grass started to cry, “If the Sun King dies, our little plant friends will not grow. The Birds will not come and sing again. Everything will be winter for ever!” Lilac, Dandelion and Elder Blossom tried to comfort their friend, but they were all very sad. As they huddled together, there was a knock on the tiny door.
“Open up, Faeries,” called out a loud voice. “Why are you hiding instead of joining us in our Solstice celebration?” Rose opened the door and the little gnome Brown Knobby pushed inside, shaking the glistening snowflakes off his brown coat and hat.
“We are too sad to celebrate,” Daffodil said wiping her eyes, “The Sun King is dying, haven’t you heard?”
“He is dead you silly Faeries.” Brown Knobby’s round dark eyes sparkled with laughter. “Now hurry, or we’ll be late for the celebration!”
“How can you be happy and laughing?!” Elder Blossom stamped her little foot and frowned at the gnome. “If the Sun King IS dead, it will be winter always. We will never see the Sun again!”
“Silly little child-Faeries.” Brown Knobby grabbed Dandelion by the hand and pulled her to her feet. “There is a secret to the Winter Solstice. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
The Faeries looked at him in surprise. “Secret?” they all said. “What secret? We are only new little Faeries, you silly gnome. We’ve never been to a Solstice celebration before.”
“Come and see. Come and see. Get your capes and come with me.” Brown Knobby danced and jigged around the room. “Hurry, Hurry, don’t be slow! To the Sacred Oak Grove through the snow!” He danced out of the door and disappeared.
“What did that gnome mean?” Rose asked as she gathered up her cloak of dried rose petals held together with cobwebs and lined with goose down.
“I don’t know, but the Lady lives in the Sacred Grove.” Meadow Grass pulled on her hat.
“Perhaps if we go to see the Goddess, She can explain what Brown Knobby was talking about”.
The Faeries left their snug little home and trudged off through the snow toward the sacred oak grove. The forest was dark with only the light of the Moon shining down through the thick fir branches and bare limbs of maple and hawthorn. It was very difficult for them to get through the snow because they were very, very small. As they waded through the wet snow and shivered in the cold wind, they met a fox.
“Where are you going, Faeries?” the fox asked.
“To the sacred grove,” they answered, they were cold and shivering.
“Climb on my back and I will take you there swiftly.”
The fox knelt down so the Faeries could climb up. Then he raced off through the dark.
“Listen!” Lilac said as they neared the Grove of Sacred trees. “Someone is singing happy songs. A LOT of someones.”
The beautiful music carried over the cold, still, moonlit air. It was the most beautiful music the Faeries had ever heard. The fox carried the Faeries right to the edge of the stone altar in the center of the grove, then knelt down.
“Look!” said Elder Blossom as they slid to the snow covered ground. “There is the Maiden and the Mother and the OLD Wise Crone, and many other Little People.”
“They are all smiling and happy,” said Lilac as she looked around at all the creatures.
“All the animals are here too,” whispered Dandelion. “Why are they all looking at the Mother?”
The Faeries moved closer to the three Ladies seated on the altar stone. The Mother held a bundle close in Her arms, smiling down at it. The Maiden reached down and took the Faeries gently in her Hands. She held them close to the Mother so they could see what She held.
“A Baby!” the Faeries cried. ” A new little Baby! Look how he glows!”
“He is the newborn Sun King,” said the Maiden smiling.
“But Brown Knobby and the old oak tree said the Sun King was dead,” the Faeries answered her. “How can this little baby be the Sun King?”
“That is the great secret of the Winter Solstice.” The Old Wise One touched the baby’s cheek with her wrinkled hand. “Every year the Sun King must come to the sacred grove during the darkest days of winter where he dies. I take his spirit to the Mother who gives him new life again. This is the way for all creatures, not just the Sun King.”
” You mean everything lives and dies and lives again? the Faeries looked down in wonder at the baby Sun King, nestled in the arms of the Mother.
” Yes, Little Ones,” answered the Old Wise Crone. “There is never an end to life. This is the great mystical secret of the Winter Solstice.”
The Faeries laughed because they were so happy.
“I think the little Sun King should have gifts,” said Rose. “I will show him where the wild roses bloom in the early summer.”
“And, I will teach him to call the birds and listen to the songs of the wind,” exclaimed Dandelion.
“When he is older and stronger, ” said the Mother, “then the flowers will bloom at his touch, the birds will return to sing their songs, and the air will be warm from his breath, and winter will be gone for a time. Then the Sun King will run and play with you in the forest.”
The little Faeries sang to the Baby Sun King, songs of the coming spring, the sweet smelling flowers, the bumbling bees, and all the secrets of the forest. And all the creatures within the sacred grove sang with them. Then the fox took them back to their snug home under the roots of the giant oak tree where they dreamed wonderful dreams, waiting for the warmth of spring and the fun they would have with the little Sun King.
Taken from fairy gardening Australia..