Quite some time since I posted here - have still been a drawing away - just lost track as quick whipped up faeries are wont to do...just a bit too much a going on in this busy world we inhabit today... but here they are from late summer to late autumn - I have no stories for them, no dreams no ideas - am struggling myself health wise but have the feeling they are out there for me to draw and the time spent on them is a gift for me

OUt near the dam under the trees, is a hum of the heat, cicadas and of bees... but down in the depths of the wet earthy ground...through a hole in the rock is another sound - a clinking, and clunking and laughter so loud - and falling about is this young elven crowd - I think they have found the sap and the seed, that gives faery wine the kick that it needs.

But high from the branches in the tall Silky Oak - graceful and regal fly the faerie queen folk - their soft whispers are calling like wisps on the wind. They call out the rabble from under the ground, who stagger and stumble but seem pleased to be found.

Bearing bottles of crystal and goblets of gold, the Queens join in a party as in days of old - where to drink and to dance and to tumble about, to sing and to laugh to swear and to shout - was what faeries did when to wine came into season, for that day they did things and lost all their reason - Better for me to back away from the Faeries - give them their space and learn to be wary.

The months have passed and summer is high - this year the clouds have gathered in a strange grey sky. Not blue and brilliant, not waves of heat - but floods and destruction and tears of grief. A cycle moving to a different pull - the seasons changing as they always will. In ages past before man became - the faeries knew this would happen again again. Our memories short we seem surprised... that flood plains flood - and water rise - happens as a matter of course - and always has. The lessons learned we gather together - we turn our faces unto the weather - and for the time we will remember, grow old and all forgotten - cycles come and cycles go - the time is not ours to know. This is nature and here we stumble - in front of faeries we now are humble. From ages past till ages future - they know the ways of weather and creature.