From trash to treasures - creating wonder from empty boxes

 This is a little story of serendipity, 

A little story of how wee sweet Nicoletta the Treasure Collector came to be.

One sunny afternoon, when I was showing one of my older daughters my new deodorant, she made a little comment about the fact that there was still a fair amount of packaging involved, despite its eco credentials.

And though I had already put the box aside to reuse in my own packaging of wee folk, I started to play with ideas of how this sweet little box might become something more fun and worthy.

At the same time I had been casting my net of inspiration towards fairyland in the hope of a little idea to help a young girl who has been having a less than easy time at the moment.

And then just like that, smile-making-thoughts started to skip into my mind... a little treasure collector, in her own little treasure box, which might sometimes, with play, become a gift shop or such like. A little something that could be taken out and about for company and purpose, on less than pleasant outings.

And so it all started to become

And one little idea led to another 

And I found out more about Nicolleta the wee little treasure collector

 

And so when I sent her to meet her little girl I was able to add a letter

And now I share this little happening with you all,

 In the hope that it makes you as happy as it made me, 

And that it inspires the creation of other fun and treasure from empty boxes.

Midsummer's first song

You probably already know
all about the garden folk who help the garden grow.
The gnomes who nourish the roots,
The fiery faeries who guide the sunbeams to ripen rosy fruits,
Those swift small sylphs bearing up in the air,
Dandelion wishes to grow here and there.

But I wonder if you might have heard

Of the wee ones who help the birds,

Carrying twigs to furnish nests

and helping find berries that taste the best.

 

At this magical time of year,

When midsummer festivities are drawing near,

The birds all sing with happy din,
Enjoining festivities to begin.

Dear robin has a lot to do
Delivering mail all fairyland through,
So these little ones give a helping hand
Carrying letters across the land.

Here’s a tender request from the wind to the rose,
to share her petals as a carpet for tiny dancing toes.

There’s a letter from the moonbeam fays to sweet slow snail,
Arranging for reflection of silvery sheen around this mysterious veil.

 

And a precious request from the fairy queen,
bearing a special stamp not often seen.
A letter to dear Robin himself,
Carried with great care by this kind helping elf
‘Honourable Robin, it is the wish of wee folk all,
That you should sing the first note of midsummer’s procession call.'

Filled with all this preparation
the whole garden is full of elation.

If you were to wake
At first day break,
And tiptoe to peep
While many still sleep,
You are sure to find
Magic beings of all kind,
Dancing midsummer blessings for the ground
To the trill of the birds first joyfully sung sounds.

--------------------------

This story was first published as a tiny booklet insert in the bird-zine 'Perched' by The Knothole Tree, you can subscribe here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/617525287/perched-a-bird-zine-issue-5-junejuly

If you would like your own wee fairy robin helpers please request them from the Magic Fairy Lady here: Dear Robin's fairy helpers 

The Apprentice Puppeteer

There is an ancient winding trail that gleams o’re fairyland. It is not laid in stone or tar or even from long trodden earth and leaves. This way is made of wisps of mist, layered think and thin enough to forget journey’s toil and drift within.

For almost all of each hour and day and for nearly the full turning of the year, a cart and unicorn travel this wayward road. Sometimes a faint or louder hoof fall can be heart and sometimes it may simply be imagined that the travelers glide.

It would be foolish to hope to see them as you went about your busy day ordinarily, but if you gaze for long moments through the shimmer around the sun-kissed petals of a rose, or breath the morning dew blessed air with your eyes half closed….then, who knows.

Children of fairykin or human kind, and older folk who know how to stretch still seconds, are often lucky enough to see the pathway in the distance. And to remember that, there, to the rhythm of clippety clop, and turning wheels, is where wishes dance and tangle with story and what might be.

Perched high upon the cart’s hollowed bark seat, from which wild sweet strawberries tumble and climb, and looking out over and past the horizon where the unicorn’s horn pricks new stars into the sky, rests the Apprentice Puppeteer.

This ageless being is not apprentice by the usual human understanding of the word, but apprentice in all humility to the stories of worlds, never presuming to know what will unfold.

Once in a while, at times that are not most times, or when a story needs to be told, or when a being needs to be held and rocked by marvel, the cart pulls into a clearing, into a pause, or a bubble of glistening air. And all around little announcements and invitations can suddenly be found.

And whispers fill the air…. The Puppeteer is here, the theater cart has come, stories of tenderness and glory will be shown and told, gather gather young and old!

----------
Once upon a time the puppeteer wove a story for the little pussycat blue who had no home in a busy dark town and who weary and hungry one long night had slipped and dipped his paw hopefully into milky mist, and there found the answering longing of a flowering fairy girl in need a galavanting furry friend.

---------
Once upon a time the puppeteer lent her hand to the wind who was unknotting a mother’s wash basket of worries, teasing each care free and tossing it up to float away in the arms of the dancing trees.                
This story when it was told, began at dawn with the twitter of early rising birds and babes...

....and continued all day,

 moving through the magic cart's theater windows as evening came and settled into night.

And then that story went to sleep with the Apprentice Puppeteer and hummed and danced with the other stories that were sighing themselves into her dreams.

---------
Often it is the children who bring stories that want to be told

and they delight in sharing the telling of these stories

---------
And always the puppet show is brought to a close with the story or the young girl, who was born in fairyland, but gave her wings to an old lady who needed them where she was going, and received in thanks from the stars, the possibility to hear and tell stories, and guardianship of the gleaming pathway,

The story tells of the unicorn who heard her loneliness one day, when she felt sad that she could no longer fly, and helped her and kept her company...

and of this story tells of the heart that grew on her back, just gently where her wings had once been.