She was born from the dreams of blue butterflies, sleeping butterflies wrapped in their cocoons, becoming all the beauty they had gathered to themselves as caterpillars, dreaming of colour and breeze, of hot sun and raindrop, petals and the smell of the wet earth…
And it is from that becoming that she grew into her calling, into her life’s work.
As a child her dancing steps on the earth were tender, for she noticed and loved all the tiny leaves, the blooming flowers, the ripening seeds, the astonished fallen acorn baby, the brightly peeping mushrooms.
As a child her toe dipping and swishy steps in the dew, the puddles, streams and seas were reverent, for she noticed and loved the raindrop ripples, the pebbles and the shells, she giggled with the splashing frogs and listened for the song of mermaids, and she gazed at frost’s delicate paintings.
As a child her lightest steps to fairy flight were delighted, for she noticed and loved the gently floating petals, the fly away dandelion puff wishing seeds, the tiny feathers with which the birds blessed the air, the hum of the bees, and of course the butterflies’ flitter flutter.
As a child her dappled steps into warm patterns of light were slow soft and silent, for she noticed and loved the kisses of sun, moon and starlight, the daily conversation between sun and sunflower, the flicker of flames in the rosy apples of her crown and in tiny lanterns, which the glow worms echoed, and the surprise spark of a gnome’s hammer on flint.
As she grew all her noticing and loving wrapped around her being, and she became known as one who carries wonder.
Each year when cold and darkness began blanketing the earth, enveloping all to sleepiness, the wee folk called on her to share the stories of all that she noticed and loved. And as she grew more and more beings of earth
would gather around her skirts at summer’s end, that they might be carried, wrapped in blue folds, cocooned in the dream sharing of their stories, until the spring’s rebirth.
Sometimes her skirts and heart became so full that she needed to rest on the back of her dear donkey, as they journeyed the paths of dreamtime.
And so it happened one year, when she had grown into womanhood, that the cold grew colder, colder than ever, and the darkness darkened deeper, day upon day. Even the wise gnomes grew concerned that Winter might become set and forget to make way for spring. A meeting was called and they called forth her love, take courage they said, and carry your wonder deep into Winter’s heart.
Though the earth tried to soften under her donkey’s feet, and though the frost flowers sparkled their wishes along the paths, though the sun offered hope, pale midday glinting on snow, and the lanterns of the wee ones in her skirts glimmered, this was a hard journey and she needed all the courage with which she had been entrusted.
And still in the darkest night she feared she might loose her way, until high high above a star reached down its shine and filled her heart with light, and in that moment gave its light through her love to the heart of Winter, and Winter recalled the rebirth of wonder.