The Story Teller's Spring Tale

With a sudden jubilant burst of sunny glory, spring arrives, and all around new sprouts of green, tinkling flower bells, lauging children, singing birds, life in all its astonishing forms can be felt rising and reaching towards the future. And it is this vital energy which has co-created with me, spinning itself into this last and first of the story teller's seasonal stories.

(You can find the stories for winter, autumn and summer in the previous posts)

THE STORY TELLER'S SPRING TALE 

Suddenly, in the bright instant of this and each Spring morning, all the tinkling flower bells begin to sing, and their delicate fresh perfume fills the air, tickling the story teller’s nose, as the children pull at her skirts, rousing her from winter’s long sleep. ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ they urge, ‘It is time to sing, it is time to dance it is the time… the joyful time to rise!’

The story teller catches the children’s outstretched hands and they run as fast as the wind down the hill to the dew-filled valley and there they all take off their shoes and wriggle their toes and jump so high that the frogs and the bunnies hear the thump! thump! thump! of their feet and come to join the play. Then hop, skip and away they go, 

All but one.

This mama rabbit comes slowly, shyly closer, and the story teller puts her finger to her lips, 'shhhhh...' and the children still their play. 

At the edge of her burrow mama rabbit shows them a small bunny, too floppy to hop, and the story teller bends to see, a thorn and redness on a tiny paw.

Gathering the this littlest one to her heart, the story teller leads the way to the old evergreen.

And there with his back in the tree they find the green healer and they hear him too, fluting a conversation with the birds.

He stands and into his magical hands the story teller lays the tiny bunnykin. With a quick tenderness the thorn is gone and a healing compress wrapped round.  

 

Then in cradling arms the little one sleeps while the others prepare for their spring parade. Whistles are whittled, flower crowns woven, new songs are learnt as voices weave rhymes and rhythms between one heart and all others.

 

Then together into the day the children step, a jubilant procession into the future, and all the birds and butterflies do follow too, in faithful exultation for all which each spring brings forth. 

 

And now with this story I am wishing you all a glorious spring!