The Whispering Wood

 

Creeping flock carpets the inner yard. The thick growth surrounds the house. Rich greens cropped close to the earth are bedecked in purple blooms. There is a living fence around this place. Thick thorny vines woven in a loose pattern are festooned in red flowering droplets. A swinging gate allows admittance if you give your name, and may I add beware of the verbiage of the fair-folk everything is more in these woods.

 

 In old English script a sign is posted: Give me your name and you may pass, or find footfall pursuing your every path.  On either side of the gate grows a wild bunch of swaddled orchids. The gentle wind rocks them tenderly. On occasion a willful gale makes them chime in sorrows. The sounds are carried across the wood, and sometimes even the townsfolk can hear the cacophony of the garden babes. Is it any wonder the villagers fear the wood?

 

Many years now past pulsing lightning struck the sandy brook creating Lilly’s staff. Smooth clear crystal capped with a crescent amethyst would be a King’s prize, and she surely looks regal walking with it. Whether she wheels it in battle or heals the earth she walks upon she is grace in motion. My sister Lilly and I were born on a dew drop. She is the very breath of Spring. Snow white hair with pale green highlights frame her face and accent lilac eyes. Her lavender dress becomes more refined with each passing season. Like the bloom of a morning-glory, it can draw closed looking more like smooth armor, or flare in velvety billows behind her. 

The only diverges between us is our coloring. Where Lilly is cool shades of white and green, my eyes and hair are warm browns with orange lowlights. My adornment faded hues of living taffeta. Those Autumn leaves overlaid with grey/brown Druze sparkles. You should know we appear to most humans as one-dimensional flashes, for we walk concurrently in two realms. With only a brief glimmer in either world, which makes us hard to spot and even harder to catch. 

Many think we are specters, but that is the farthest from the truth. We just are as we appear; realm-walkers and forest dwellers. This year we have imparted the ability to glimmer to Celest, our 'little red riding hood', of the wood, and here is where this story will come into view. 

Sometimes I fear we have transferred to many gifts upon her, but love grows as do our favors. The fullness of Summer has touched every inch of the land. Deep greens cover everything that grows. Springs crop of new babes are now surefooted. They grow a little bigger each new morning, and gain wisdom daily. Many yearly's will venture off on their own soon, and the cycle of life strengthened. 

Celest, or Red as we call her tended a young elk with a split hoof. She packed it with mineral clay and moss. She neatly bandaged it in woven grass. He will be good as new before you know it. Lilly and I smile at how easy tasks come to her. With only nineteen seasons to her count, she is a gifted healer, gardener, and friend to the wood.

She ambles away with Wahya the cub leaning on her leg. Turn for turn they walk together, for now. We know this will not turn out well. This is the third time she has made this beast a babe. He has a wild heart and I think a malicious spirit that cannot be changed, a spirit that will not yield to love.

 

A hard quick breath of air brakes the silence of the sizzling afternoon, and Blue the bear stands before them. “Honey?” he asks.

 

“No dear not today,” the girl giggles, but the bear seems confused. Humor is not a strength of the bear. “I mean, I left it at home. Come see me tomorrow tonight, and we can break bread together.” Without another word Blue wandered off. She giggled some more because she could hear his tummy rumble. He was hungry but then he was always hungry.

 

She dragged a small raft into the water and Celest and the cub head upstream to visit the old Gloth. He is a beast of burden. He holds the night in place and draws back the curtain of day each morning. 

He is a massive beast of midnight black; strong, massive, and old. He is the size of a mountain, but gentle as a lamb. It is said he swam out of the sea. That he was sick of the darkness and pulled back Heavens drapes to let the light fall upon the land. 

He has not been feeling well and has asked Celest to come for a visit. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I loved the story dear Cherrie. You are writing with the skill of the ancient writer. making the place and people come alive for the reader. I loved how you used the description. You are create a masterpiece dear friend.
Coyote

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Cherry... I believe the trees do whisper as the Wood Winds chime through the breeze. The beautiful Orchids with their shades of soft lavender ... smile and greet the visitor with gentle persuasion. Your story has brought healing to the Village as the Curtains have been pulled back to let the light be felt by all that pass by. I am touched with the feeling of Hope and Charity. gently, Pat

[Cherrie Palmer]

Pat my good friend I have been having trouble posting replies. So here we go again. :) I appreciate you reading my children's story. I always love writing them.

[Einstein Noodle]

what an enjoyable read ..really glad you are pursuing this story. the characters are all endeared to me .. even the Wolf, who at this point still has a chance .. strong inspiring imaging that does spark my imagination and love of all things of the Faeries and Season Guardians... I feel a bit concerned for the Great and Gentle Gloth ... what would happen should he not draw days' curtain ???????????????????
E.

[Cherrie Palmer]

I struggled on what to make my Gloth. I almost made him a giant sea turtle but changed it up to a creature that could fly. I still may change it back, :)

[Einstein Noodle]

Gloth the Sloth :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))