The wind itself is a force to be reckoned with. We have stopped talking about it having a Spirit, or thinking about it as an entity, or considering it much at all. We may think of it as it gently lifts our skirts on a summer day, as a caress perhaps, or as it lifts the Stars and Stripes to regally flap in the air over a sacred place. If we were sailors we would think of the wind differently. Energy, and power, transporting us. And if we were Birds. Like Windslow, we would have respect for Its currents and call it Friend. If we lived in the Midwest, and had experienced a tornado, or in the South, a Hurricane, we would not think so kindly of the Wind and may even feel afraid when it begins to blow.
That night in the Baggaraggs, a wind began to blow, indeed. Some say the saw the Maple lift its Hoary arm to part the Forest curtain, and allow it to enter. Some saw nothing, because they peacefully slept.
Whatever the reason, a Wind like none other began its work in The forest of the Baggaraggs...and the first indicator that something bad might be afoot began with the Goblin Lantern of Prunella Fig-Pink. It cast a rather beautiful Pink glow around the entrance and home of Prunella, illuminating the grounds and casting a serene shadow into the Forest itself.
Goblin Lights are interesting objects and are valuable to have. They DO NOT GO OUT. They do not require electricity, batteries or solar panels. I don't know how they work, and I don't think you do either, so the explanation for what is to happen next is...inexplicable. The forest is a dark place and as I have said before, it likes it that way. And so it was into total darkness it returned when the Goblin Lantern of Prunella Fig-Pink inexplicable blinked and went out.
At that moment, The one good eye of Peg the Pie-rat popped open, and tried to adjust to the darkness, and could not.
At that moment, there was a whirling sound that swept past the Home of Prunella Fig-Pink and rattled a shutter.
"Must be a mighty storm comin," thought Peg. She wondered about the darkness, and tried to sink back into slumber, and could not.
She squirmed a bit in the covers, stretching for a soft spot, getting comfortable, again.
The Wind spoke at the windows, opening them a inch or so with its mighty strenght, and filled a white curtain full of itself, like a ghost with a bulging belly. It whipped full, and then cracked! leaving the curtain finely shredded, hanging in thin strips, looking like long, unraveled bandages. The Pie-rats started. Some yelled out in Fear. But none could see.
Around the room it roared, tossing the cake to the floor, tangling the faded streamers and knocking over the chairs. The cabinet doors in the kitchen opened and slammed shut as the kitchen window opened, and blew the pots and pans to the floor.
The front door creaked and rattled as if a mighty hand was trying at the lock and then blew open in a rush of broken sticks and leaves and biting, jagged snowflakes. Big Punzee rushed forward to brace it up and shut it once again.
"What's happening?" big Punzee yelled above the malestrom to Peg-leg.
"Some kind of a storm or somethin'," replied Peg.
Above them,were sounds of something falling onto the roof, and together, as if in one motion, the rats hunched their shoulders to ward off the unseen falling objects from above. The floorboards moaned out in pain, and the wind spoke in a high pitched voice that sounded for all this world Like "GOOOOOOO!."
Fatigue and disbelief clouded the mind of Peg-Leg the Pie-rat. Rats, nearly blind in the blowing darkness, stumbled into each other and cried out in fear.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Confession
The Seasons have out paced the story of the Baggaraggs. They are stuck at the beginning of Winter and Prunella has just shown up at Grace's Home and Grace has climbed out of Bed....
Grace looked with weary eyes at the form beFore her and remembered the little girl she had watched climb in the apple trees, and wave without fear from the tops of the Poplars in summer. Grace was a young woman then, and Prunella had been a child. This person before her was not the Prunella that she remembered. It took only seconds for these thoughts to make their appearance in Grace's thoughts and evaporate, leaving her to wonder what to say. "Hello, Prunella," she began. "What Party...what are you talking about, and why are you dressed like that?" She finished this with a furrow of her brows, questioning.
Prunella Fig-Pink eyed Grace with misery. "I am cold Grace, and the Pie-rats have taken my Home. I have come for help. The party was my Birthday party...you didn't come and I am wearing my Birthday dress." She sniffed. Prunella looked down at herself, spreading the fabric of her skirt to display the fine gay print to Grace. It was threadbare, stained and thin. Prunella looked confused.
"When was your Party, Dear?" urged Grace gently.
"It was..." Prunella paused. She thought a long and confused thought. She began again, "It was, my goodness...16 years ago." The tears came to Prunella then. She crumbled and wept. "I waited and no one came..." this was all she could manage between her sobs.
Grace Tenderstitch watched this tearful confession. She was tired and her neck and shoulder had begun to stiffen with the night's arm slinging, shovel wielding activities. She longed for sleep. There was a moments indecision, that was so common for Grace before she crossed the room and put her arm around Prunella. "Come on...into the tub, nice hot bath and some nice soft jammies. We will think of what you want to do in the morning."
In the meantime, the Pie-rats had not wasted any time getting settled into Prunella's home.
In the meantime, Maybell snuggled into the soft downy feathers, under the wing of Windslow the Osprey. They were perched high above the forest in a twiggy nest.
In the meantime, Ernie the Weasel and Tisdale the snail talked long into the night about how to take back the Thread-Pusher, and what to do about the Pie-Rats.
And the forest slept under its icy blanket, covered in a frosting of snow. The wind blew softly and lifted the icy fingers of the Maple tree, as if to beckon an unseen spirit into the forest depths.
Grace looked with weary eyes at the form beFore her and remembered the little girl she had watched climb in the apple trees, and wave without fear from the tops of the Poplars in summer. Grace was a young woman then, and Prunella had been a child. This person before her was not the Prunella that she remembered. It took only seconds for these thoughts to make their appearance in Grace's thoughts and evaporate, leaving her to wonder what to say. "Hello, Prunella," she began. "What Party...what are you talking about, and why are you dressed like that?" She finished this with a furrow of her brows, questioning.
Prunella Fig-Pink eyed Grace with misery. "I am cold Grace, and the Pie-rats have taken my Home. I have come for help. The party was my Birthday party...you didn't come and I am wearing my Birthday dress." She sniffed. Prunella looked down at herself, spreading the fabric of her skirt to display the fine gay print to Grace. It was threadbare, stained and thin. Prunella looked confused.
"When was your Party, Dear?" urged Grace gently.
"It was..." Prunella paused. She thought a long and confused thought. She began again, "It was, my goodness...16 years ago." The tears came to Prunella then. She crumbled and wept. "I waited and no one came..." this was all she could manage between her sobs.
Grace Tenderstitch watched this tearful confession. She was tired and her neck and shoulder had begun to stiffen with the night's arm slinging, shovel wielding activities. She longed for sleep. There was a moments indecision, that was so common for Grace before she crossed the room and put her arm around Prunella. "Come on...into the tub, nice hot bath and some nice soft jammies. We will think of what you want to do in the morning."
In the meantime, the Pie-rats had not wasted any time getting settled into Prunella's home.
In the meantime, Maybell snuggled into the soft downy feathers, under the wing of Windslow the Osprey. They were perched high above the forest in a twiggy nest.
In the meantime, Ernie the Weasel and Tisdale the snail talked long into the night about how to take back the Thread-Pusher, and what to do about the Pie-Rats.
And the forest slept under its icy blanket, covered in a frosting of snow. The wind blew softly and lifted the icy fingers of the Maple tree, as if to beckon an unseen spirit into the forest depths.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Althea Stems
Please be advised, Althea Stems is Lurking on my Lemon Poppy Seeds page...the worst Bully Ever.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Some Of my Friends dropped in
Here are a few of the Latest. They will be for Lemon Poppy Seeds and Etsy....I think. Hope you get a smile from these latest Brain farts.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Prunella's Visit
Grace Tenderstitch slept in a brass bed. The mattress was too hard and needed to be replaced, and that was her thought for the 1000 time before she lay down to sleep that very late night. Around her was a stack of books, in various shapes and in a state of disarray, almost like a defensive wall against harm. The books rose up at precarious angles on her nightstand, threatening to spill over and take the lamp with them to the floor. They were somewhat dusty, a commentary on what Grace thought about housekeeping and where her personal space fell on the list of priorities. She didn't like that she was low on the list, and occasionally struggled to change it without much success.
Murray slept on the floor next to her. He had a bed of his own which he had abandoned to Swain the Cat. He preferred the floor next to Grace.
And this is where they all were, in there places softly snoring, when Ernie the weasel woke Murray with the News.
This next part of the story is difficult and complicated for me to write about. I guess its just best to tell the truth without much of a slant in any one's favor.
Murray felt that his job in life was to protect and guide Grace Tenderstitch. He knew that she needed to sleep and wanted her to not be disturbed with any more drama and what he considered to be unnecessary interruptions. For this reason, he growled softly at Ernie's News. It was like swearing in dog language. I won't translate, but you can use your imagination.
"I am not going to wake her," he hissed to Ernie.
"I think you should," insisted Ernie, "otherwise what am I to do with her?" I am not sure that Grace would even want her to bed down on the couch...she has an abundant odor...an I know odor..." this he added lamely, nodding his head.
Murray paused for a second and wondered how to deal with the situation. He had thoughts of running the Fig-Pink woman off, and swearing everyone to secrecy. Something told him that Grace would not approve of this behavior, or appreciate it.
He got up from his spot and stretched. His joints ached. He was not a young dog anymore. He took his giant black nose and rooted it into the armpit of Grace Tenderstitch, flipping her arm a little in the air. Waking her. "Whaaaat?" said Grace in an irritable voice. She sat up and laid her hand on Murray's soft woolly head.
"Grace, "said Murray, "Prunella Fig-Pink has come to us. The pie-rats have taken her home. She is here for help...and..." Murray couldn't think of what to say after this, he just didn't know how to finish.
Grace sighed. She lifted herself up and felt around for her robe which was cast over the top of a bookcase. As an after thought she switched on the light. Found her slippers.
"Come on," she said to Murray and to Ernie the Weasel.
In the living room of the Baggaraggs, a light glowed from a lamp that cast a shadow over the hunched form Of Prunella Fig-Pink. She was cold and despite her coat, shivered as she waited for Grace to get up. She argued with herself inside her head, and managed to quell the thought that she should just leave, and go home.
Grace stood in the doorway and watched Prunella for a moment before she spoke. She wanted to recoil in horror at the sight, but stood her ground. "What a night," she thought to herself. Out loud she said hestitantly, "Prunella?"
Prunella Fig-Pink looked up and in a pressured voice said "Grace why didn't you come to my Party?"
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
irene The Rag Ocean Crab
The Rag Ocean, where the Kelp Beds are daisy Chains...Irene has one draped across her lovely shell. Now on sale at Etsy.Friday, May 15, 2009
Ethel Anne and the Radish Man
Ethel Anne is available on Lemon Poppy Seeds and the Radish Man can be found next door at the Small Asylum Shop. Just click the Links on the side baR
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Prunella's Walk
Prunella Started into the Forest. Her breath came out in little fluffy clouds before her face, although the darkness of the night kept her from seeing much. She walked like someone who carries another life upon their shoulders, one that is heavier than their own. Her shoulders were rounded and hunched against the the cold, and braced to carry the burden that others could not see. Her footsteps were heavy, and inside her brain an argument raged that sometimes emitted fragments of verbalizations. Prunella was ambivalent at best about going to Grace for help. "why should I?" she blurted in anger. "The Rats," she answered herself. "She never came to my Party...she was my friend," she said in resignation. "I will not cry," she said, and answered herself: "after all this time, you should."
Whatever the argument that battled in her head, Prunella's feet knew the way to Grace Tenderstitch's home , even in the black night, even in a forest of naked trees armed with daggers of ice upon their limbs. Sometimes feet are the best deciders, and have the very best judgement when all else fails.
Meanwhile at the Baggaraggs, the residents were trying hard to settle. There was a restlessness that did not result in any kind of Peaceful sleep, and tension hung in the air, with apprehension holding its hand. The creatures of the Baggaraggs dozed but their little bodies were still partially vigilant, trusting not the silence of the night. Ernie the Night Watch- weasel was fully awake at his post for a change, and heard the footsteps before he could see who approached. "Who is that? Who goes there? Who comes to the Baggaraggs?, " he challenged into the night.You can imagine his surprise when Prunella Fig-Pink materialized from the darkness.
"Its Prunella Fig-Pink...I was once a friend of Grace Tenderstitch...I need help," she said wearily. "The Pie-rats have taken my home," she added.
There are places to leave a burden like Prunella Fig-Pinks. Sometimes the bearer simply decides that life is too interesting to carry such a trouble with them, and leave their anger, and sadness in a place called Forgetting. There are some who seek to tell another when their hearts are troubled, and do so in love. The joining of thoughts like these are sometimes a magic for sadness, and the empathy that results is like a tangible balm, that evaporate the trouble. It is like the sunshine that clears the cloudy day. There are those whose coping muscle is weak, however. They are the Collectors of troubling thoughts. They are the storers of anger, misdeeds and outrage. They have their reasons for doing so, and would deny these angry collections if confronted with it. It is a choice, I suppose. Prunella had the unfortunate disposition of being a Collector. In seeking Grace's help, she had a chance of seeking healing in the magic balm of Love, and empathy.
Whatever the argument that battled in her head, Prunella's feet knew the way to Grace Tenderstitch's home , even in the black night, even in a forest of naked trees armed with daggers of ice upon their limbs. Sometimes feet are the best deciders, and have the very best judgement when all else fails.
Meanwhile at the Baggaraggs, the residents were trying hard to settle. There was a restlessness that did not result in any kind of Peaceful sleep, and tension hung in the air, with apprehension holding its hand. The creatures of the Baggaraggs dozed but their little bodies were still partially vigilant, trusting not the silence of the night. Ernie the Night Watch- weasel was fully awake at his post for a change, and heard the footsteps before he could see who approached. "Who is that? Who goes there? Who comes to the Baggaraggs?, " he challenged into the night.You can imagine his surprise when Prunella Fig-Pink materialized from the darkness.
"Its Prunella Fig-Pink...I was once a friend of Grace Tenderstitch...I need help," she said wearily. "The Pie-rats have taken my home," she added.
There are places to leave a burden like Prunella Fig-Pinks. Sometimes the bearer simply decides that life is too interesting to carry such a trouble with them, and leave their anger, and sadness in a place called Forgetting. There are some who seek to tell another when their hearts are troubled, and do so in love. The joining of thoughts like these are sometimes a magic for sadness, and the empathy that results is like a tangible balm, that evaporate the trouble. It is like the sunshine that clears the cloudy day. There are those whose coping muscle is weak, however. They are the Collectors of troubling thoughts. They are the storers of anger, misdeeds and outrage. They have their reasons for doing so, and would deny these angry collections if confronted with it. It is a choice, I suppose. Prunella had the unfortunate disposition of being a Collector. In seeking Grace's help, she had a chance of seeking healing in the magic balm of Love, and empathy.
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