Wednesday, 16 July 2014

A Fairyland Circus

I glimpsed the clown trumpeter tooting and tottering one day, 
and I listened as all around the grasses began to sway sshhhhh...ssswishhhh...wish...wwwhhooshhh..and...tootootooot! 
the circus, the fairyland circus is coming to play

So full of joy came the dancers of blue, 
On their fantabulistic penny farthing around which butterflies flew, 
the magic of their atmosphere pulled me along, 
their power to enchant especially strong

In the warm stone breath of a sunlit windowsill they paused to dance, 
practicing shadow play with the butterflies, everything patterned by chance 
Run run through the meadow to invite her friend,
'Wait wait let me show you my skill of pretend'
Oh marvel... a magic rose wand waved like that
will invite a dear bunny from out of a hat

When day upon day rain came helter skelter, 
and the circus troop vanished, under leaves to shelter
To one royal pair the tippetty tap 'wake up!' called, 
flippety flap little one take care to fly and not fall

Alas the candy floss lady would not venture out in the still damp air, 
for she said the moisture would spoil her fancy fare
Soon the sun came again brining shimmer and glimmer 
And the circus children helped decide which sweet fluffy recipe was the winner

Lastly.... stepping lightly from another morning's purply brume
treading softly across petals came the teller of wonder-full fortunes

With magical mystery, with joyous jollity, with royal revelry and delicious delicacy, 
they have gathered as is told in fairyland legend of old. 
Once in the time of a six hundredth dandelion puff 
Bringing all they have lived betwixt to create true enough... 
Processing they come 
tiddlium tum ta dum 
Today today 
is the day 
that the circus will play

All around about fairies dwellers tiptoe out
The wee ones peep, they point, and the peer 
and very soon hearts enraptured they all gather near
Oh clown's shoes do the talking, jokes and hilarity in their walking
So soon twisting and twirling in air born pirouettes
Fairy tumblers and dancers have wings, so need no nets
'Do let me introduce you' 
says the mysterious being of blue
'This fair fortune teller will wish your wishes true' 

sweet treats in the interval 
are most deliciously beneficial 
light mouthfuls of frivolity
go hand in had with circus jollity

With mouths full of merriment they all gather back....
 Oh magical magician, who will hop from your hat?
 and what better way to make friends with a bunny
than to share something pink and delightingly yummy

Thus it ends
dearest friends
and so now 
take a bow 
Such a show
our hearts glow
and we wish you so well...
Each will go 
as adventuring winds blow
where and when who can tell 
 Till perhaps, in the moment of a six hundredth dandelion puff 
They will share once again, as foretold in fairyland legend of old, 
circus wonder that will, as ever and always be enough

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

The call of the seafarer’s fairest daughter

Sometimes the wonder of these wee beings who trust themselves into my stitching hands is overwhelming. Each comes giving of their unique essence and I am humbled and honoured to receive them. I realise that to write such things may seem contrived, but I know that they are not my creations, for if they were I would simply be stitching bits of cloth. I would not fall in love with them, nor would they show, tell, and at times command the direction of my needle and paintbrush.  My finger tips would not tingle and sometimes tremble and I would not feel astonished each and every time.

Sometimes they come and I feel as if they are just skipping across my palms on their way to where they will become complete with children in their play.

Sometimes though, they tell me their secrets, they surround me with their atmosphere and they awe me with a renewed sense of immense gratitude.

And so it was with the seafarer’s fairest daughter, who came when I was sitting on the beach.

 Her head surprisingly did not form so easily, and so I spoke a lot of love and encouragement as I shaped and held, and then when I could see her, I realised that she had wanted this slightly unusual shape, with her upturned little nose.... and long long before I painted it I could see her smile. Her hair too was not a usual choice for a blue sea girl, but she told me she love peaches the frivolity of fancy desserts…. Pavlova reminds her of the waves on which she twirls, when she is not doing the things that seafarer’s daughters must do, when she takes off the protection of shirt and hat and lets her wings flutter free as she dances light, racing with the white horses.

It's not that she does not love her hat, in fact she showed me her hat, which I had been sitting on at the beach while I stitched, she said ‘look!… my hat, it has a wave in the colour of my hair, and some blue too as my sea skin.’
Its not that she does not like the protection of her silk rough weave shirt, stitched almost by herself, or that she is not happy being strong, or doing the things that seafarers do….
It's just that sometimes she likes to barely really be, to become once more as the spray of the sea.

So when it came to forming her body and we found that her skin was a little misfit and I suggested that perhaps I should fix it, she said ‘no, this is me’ and I was concerned, and waited overnight, and then asked again, ‘but you are such a beauty, will it not detract?’ and she said ‘as you can, when you let yourself, see, my beauty is why my skin doesn’t quite fit me.’
Though I knew she was right I felt a need to explain, that this might make it harder for her to find somewhere to be. She in turn reminded me gently that she needs to live with those who can see her.

And I knew that to change her would be to render her lifeless. And so the seafarer’s fairest daughter has reminded me anew, that should my finger tips ever stop listening, only truly listening, the wee folk would stop coming, and I would simply be stitching bits of cloth.