A few of these were looking in my window

just on sunset last evening. I was feeling a little lost and wondering how to get used to things after the changes this year.. missing my lovely Don but not wanting to cry again just before night time... A spark of the last ray of the sun made me turn to my window and then pull out my pens and pencils I spent the evening trying to get them as they were, but nowhere near the colours and the shine... don't have those skills yet...before I knew it it was midnight an I was so sleepy and shed nary a tear all night...



thanks to this pair of faery grief counsellors and their mates who have no training at all but commonsense and beauty, but who got me through this rough patch...

There is so much colour around my place, hidden away from town, everything seems to be rich in greens and pinks...red grevillias feed Rainbow lorikeets, Galah's look at me from the tree outside with that silly rat cunnung look I love to see...nobody's fool they just look like that... All the bush about Don nurtured and fed...have to hope the bush abouts where he is is lusher and greener and gentler...

The Faery King bejewelled us all


with drops of the sun's tears.

He laid the pearls upon our necks

and sought to ease our fears..

The Shadow People.

Old lame Bridget doesn't hear

Fairy music in the grass

When the gloaming's on the mere

And the shadow people pass:

Never hears their slow grey feet

Coming from the village street

Just beyond the parson's wall,

Where the clover globes are sweet

And the mushroom's parasol

Opens in the moonlit rain.

Every night I hear them call

From their long and merry train.

Old lame Bridget says to me,

"It is just your fancy, child."

She cannot believe I see

Laughing faces in the wild,

Hands that twinkle in the sedge

Bowing at the water's edge

Where the finny minnows quiver,

Shaping on a blue wave's ledge

Bubble foam to sail the river.

And the sunny hands to me

Beckon ever, beckon ever.

Oh! I would be wild and free,

And with the shadow people be.

Francis Ledwidge

The Discovery

Paul Laurence Dunbar
"These are the days of elfs and fays:
Who says that with the dreams of myth,
These imps and elves disport themselves?
Ah no, along the paths of song
Do all the tiny folk belong."