Faerie Broom…January 8, 2019

Barely days into the New Year with sunshine blessing the day instead of the usual snow or ice I was drawn to go outside and enjoying the gift of such a gorgeous day. I grabbed my favorite quilt with it’s now tattered and torn edges that was a long ago gift from my great grandmother. Each thread had been handstitched and much loved had been incorporated  into each stitch.

I walked toward the hollow, gnarled old tree standing guard over the cemetery just feet from the Cabin. I spread the quilt near it’s trunk and settled down. Leaning against the old tree that still stood strong I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the sun’s rays upon my face.

I let my mind and thoughts wonder knowing that they would soon choose a path for my mindful, spiritual journey. Before the journey could began an unusual sound kept breaking through. A soft weeping sound. Was the tree weeping? Was the weeping coming from within the tree?

Leaning forward I turned and peered into the hollow opening of the tree, for a moment I saw nothing. The sun shifted it’s bright rays illuminating the dark, hollow opening in the tree. My heart flipped.

A small circle of faeries sat before me. The weeping came from a beautiful faerie with golden hair as bright and shiny as the sun’s rays. Before her laying upon a bed of fresh pine needles was a tiny faerie child just born. Oblivious to the weeping, the faerie child slept, so tiny, so beautiful.

In my softest voice I asked the weeping faerie, why do you cry? Lifting her tear filled eyes to look into mine she senses that I too am a mother and that she has nothing to fear. Gently, she lifts the tiny faerie child for me to see. Sobbing with a broken heart she says, my daughter has no wings with which to fly.

Tears of my own began to fall. I feel the wrenching heartache coming from mama faerie. Her heartache rips at my heart. Do not weep little mother, I promise you I will find a way to help your daughter. Picking up my quilt I walk sadly back to the Cabin. My mind is racing. Can I keep the promise I made to mama faerie?

As it is winter the woods and grounds are bare and unpleasant looking to the eye, human or faerie. The birth of the faerie child needed to be celebrated with color and beauty. Inside the Cabin I remove the flowers from the vase on the kitchen table. I had picked the bouquet of blue, pink, yellow and purple flowers up at the local florist just days before.

Back at the tree, I surround the tree’s hollow opening with the beautiful, ambrosial scented flowers. Just inside the opening I placed tiny thimbles of honey and milk for nourishment. Repeating my promise to mama faerie I bid them goodnight.

As the night fell I decide a small fire in the fireplace was needed. I craved the warmth and glow that the fire would emit in the Cabin. Hot tea in hand, I wrapped my quilt around my shoulders as I settled into my rocking chair. I gazed into the steam rising from the cup of tea hoping for inspiration and guidance on how to best help the tiny faerie child. Minute upon minute ticked by, soon my teacup was empty and my eyes began to droop.

My dreams filled not with faeries but with witches. The witches flew back and forth through the skies. They played, sang and floated on the clouds. Why? Why am I dreaming of witches? I should be dreaming of how to help the faerie child.

Awake I see the fire is only embers barely burning. The early morning air has a chill to it. Not willing to stir just yet I gather the quilt tightly around me and drift once more into the land of dreams. The witches are still there, still flying.
A tiny speck appears in the distance. It appears to be moving closer and closer. It is so small. What can it be?

A tiny faerie appears riding on a miniature broom glittering of pink and silver. Flying directly to me, the faerie hovers inches in front of me. In a soft magickal voice the faerie says…I am your answer.

I awake with a start. I have my answer. I add a log to the fire, set the tea to steep and begin to gather the supplies that I will need. I am going to make a broom. Not a witches broom but a miniature faerie broom.

From a basket of twigs gathered earlier in the fall I select an oak twig for the broom’s handle. Oak will provide strength and protection. Ash twigs become the bristles adding more protection and love to the broom. Birch bark to bind the bristles to the handle adding more strength as well as beauty and renewal as needed to the broom.

A unique, special addition is a must. A small acorn cap bound to the handle with threads from my quilt becomes a seat for the tiny faerie. The broom now assembled receives it’s finishing touch. A beautiful shade of pink paint and generous amounts of pink and silver glitter completes the miniature faerie broom.

My heart swells and tears fall as I kneel in front of the tree. I open my palm to reveal the miniature faerie broom…my promise.

The sparkle of pink and silver glitter enhances the landscape around the Cabin and sweet, magickal, musical giggles of a tiny faerie child float on the wind.

See the Magick…Embrace the Magick…Feel the Magick


#Magick #Cabin #Faeries #Witches #Promises #Heirlooms #ShortStories

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