No wonder our doggie doesn't like his bath much. I was just about to drag him in today and he was all a shiverin , tail licked between his back legs, when lo and behold, stone the bloody crows and starve the bloody lizards, you could have knocked me over with a stick...here was this large bubble which slowly broke on the surface. This rough looking head popped our, looked me square in the eyes, wiggled its hairy backside at the dog, who was a mess of jelly on the ground...and then it just took off like a blur and scarpered into the dam, over near the trees. We won't be going over there for a while I can tell you.

Que? I nearly trod on this little creature which was painstakiingly pulling itself along on our path the other day. This one measuring its home or coocoon (?) is about 6" long. It was quite unperturbed by my presence and its near miss...or maybe just kept going as a sort of bluff...



I picked it up and it just tucked itself back inside as I took it down the back well away from the path and in the shade.




Its Australia, mid winter and on the mid north east coast, temperate zone ...does anyone know what this is? 

Late in the afternoon sunlight accross to the dam of water this bunch of hugging faeries basked in the strobes of sunlight which fell accross the paddock.

All but one who sat apart, obvioulsy the lookout stretched and yawned and slumbered.

I didn't mean to wake this lot up but trod on abig stick and its cracking alerted them to my presence but they were obviously not too alarmed. 

A Gaggle of Gossamer Girls.
It had just stopped raining and the winter sun had just strobed its way accross the paddock. I looked and looked again... in the branches of the She-Oaks were lots of small lights reflecting in the sunshine. Sure, it could have been the raindrops reflecting the sunlight, but no one could mistake this gaggle of gossamer girls flapping in and out the wet sunfilled branches.

I might have missed them but it was the quick as lightening movement of the little red-headed green-eyed faery flutterby which spun me about and I though "Aha! they're here again.

They are getting quite relaxed around the house and land lately, but still its such an honour to see them when they choose to let me.

No tears of wisedom for this Banshee as she contemplates the future and fate of us all. 

These Mid winter faeries were all laying about out in the paddock near the dam. It was just after noon and the winter sun was just warm enough for them to become all drowsy and I think that even when they noticed me they didn't have the energy to flap about like they usually do. Its a well known fact in faery lore that if faeries loll about having sunbaths they become a bit inebriated and very sleepy.

Just after I got this picture the one in the front fell off her hand with a bump and the others fell about laughing at her.

I actually think that the big blue-eyed faery with the wisedom tears was not so much being wise but crying with laughter or emotion... but that can be wisedom too.

She is obviously the responsible one because she's got a rather firm grip on the flossy floozie one in front, but it wasn't strong enough to stop her falling on her face.

A Hope Faery

This faery doesn't know whether to laugh or cry...but that's okay...we are all a bit like that. Her bright blue wings seem to match the tears in her eyes ...also blue...but she smiles and she smiles with hope in those blue eyes. And she is a faery of hope I feel for no matter how many tears there are shed, no matter how blue those tears or eyes, this faery endures. 

Late in the night, just before I turn the fire down, out of the corner of my eye I have seen this lovely faery a warming herself up close to the corner of the fire.

She appears unaware of my watching her... and after I do, I find myself asleep in front of the dying embers... and she is gone.

If you see her beside your fire... she is so very beautiful that male or female - you will never forget her.

Inside the Mushroom Ring on a Midwinter's noontide... please humans don't step in the chaos will make you crazy... and they'll give you Prozac or somink...just know it all happens there so the earth can regenerate, so the flowers bloom and the sun begins to shine again. 

These are the Watchful faeries who have been perching up high in the trees here abouts. They are watching for rain which we desparately need so badly. When I see them spring up and whirl about in a frenzy I will know its coming closer but right now they are sitting there so couourfully eyes on the horizon wiching the rain towards themselves and the land and us... 

A Christmas faery who turned up at our place...a bit confused... she'd just arrived from up north - where Christmas is held in the depth of winter... and so, attracted to Australia and the south she came in with bells on to help us with our Christmas and although we gave her a glass of milk (organic of course) , and a big slab of homemade fruitcake, we had to tell her that just because we are going into winter..., doesn't mean its Christmas here... but we told her we really hoped she would come back in December when its hot, humid and spend and Australian Christmas with us... She said she'd think about it...as long as we had airconditioning! 

My Faeries are not sad. As with earlier ones...these are wisedom tears and we need to cry as many wisedom tears as it takes to restore some plain old common sense and gentleness back into our world. The Faeries are known as the true and real "Gentry" in Celtic (irish) mythology... and this faery cries beautiful blue tears just because she knows..thats all. 

This shy little member of the elven race is very well known to our family. He is extremely fond of eating seaweed, stewing thistles and listening to Presbyterian sermons on Sundays. Home and hearth is most important to him.. but do not dare to leave extra lights burning or you will be soundly and roundly ticked off repeatedly. he's weeell known for loudly telling off local politicians with a megaphone which his good wife is instructed to hold out the window, motor idling for a quick get away - for this is the frugal and very crusty but somehow loveable grey beard of the faery family called "Tartan Don"... not known for his tact but with a grumpy heart of gold...once you dig through the many layers of grit!!!

An Angel visited me today. Her prescence touched me with warmth; my earthly pen cannot touch her beauty. Where she came from and to where she went how could I know... but she was here smiling for a time and as she must on she went to those with much greater need. 

These lovely late autumn faeries drop down in front of my window from time to time. Just sometimes when I am feeling a bit too serious I look up and there they are a sparkling in the late afternoon sunshine and giggling away over some shared joke... methinks it could be about me... but not to worry, there's no harm in these two whatsoever. They are as light as the air and as bright as day and when I see them all my cares go away. 

The Growing Tree faery. 

The Gathering

The Gathering.
A stream of lights in midnight blue flows off my shoulders and flies true.
A ruby cloak over all, flies like wings so I don’t fall.
An emerald green is at my throat; its gleaming eye keeps me afloat.
My feet are pale as opal sheen; no one can know where I have been.

The faery mound on mountainside, is where I am bound this airy ride.
There stands the guardian rising free, a very special growing tree.

It’s gnarled and whorled of ancient age,
with leaves dark and light, of green delight.
Its boughs spread wide, twist and writhe, with birdsong and sparkled life.
With blues and greens and red and gold, a powdering of gems the branches hold.

Inside each gem faery children wait the call, of life and so they fall,
one by one from pod to womb, through life, to learn and then to tomb.
From tomb to spirit, more lessons learned, in heaven’s halls, a rest is earned.
From rest and peace, again to feel the plea, of the Faery Queen who seeds the tree...
...with gems of spirit, pods of child, of colours rich from forests wild.
There grows the fruit of love and joy, into each Faery girl, each Elven boy.

Each child is blessed by Faeries all, who bring the gift when they hear the call.
The gift ... a globe within a star, within the darkness from afar.
To touch the surface and for a time, inside a star and so to shine.
To feed their hand inside the shape, to feel the light make its escape.
To learn... light is life and by its needs, it gives and takes... is fed and feeds.

Then as they fall each child is offered the wisdom from the chalice proffered.
The learn to sup before they sip, the nectar deep from chalice lip.
The nectar tastes like honey diluted; Like peaches, like water of life ...all fruited
Upon one vine and turned into warm and amber liqueur wine.

Inside the chalice, a burnished glow, a measure of this to help the flow.
But of this sweetness drink no more than one, or dreams from moon
and dreams from sun will bloom too soon, and die before they have begun.

Each child pod learns the lesson needed, in times upon the tree that’s seeded...
“Take time each day to kneel and pray, for that time throw cares away.
  Look to the light for what you need, within the light you find the seed.
  Inside, outside, above, below. you find  what you need so you can grow.”

I climb the sacred growing tree and don a new cloak that’s just right for me.
First it’s small and new and as it grows, it gathers light and so it glows,
and tattered though it will become, I’ll bring it back where I came from.
then lay my cloak around the growing tree, to feed its roots and then fly free,
till again I hear the faery call, and lodge again in pod to fall
to find myself wrapped anew, in a cloak that’s small and bright and new.

To learn truth and feel compassion, are tools I need to begin to fashion
a stream of lights in midnight blue flowing off my shoulder to fly true.
To laugh with life, and show it kindness, the gift I take for my dying blindness
a ruby red cloak over all, flying like wings so I don’t fall.
To fail sometimes and still keep on trying, its own reward as I am dying,
an emerald green at my throat, a gleaming eye keeping me afloat.
To be brave and take a stand when evil takes the upper hand
with feet as pale as opal sheen, no one can know where I have been.

Always there will be the gathering free, of growing souls at the sacred tree.
As weary as the human grows, we all have a coloured cloak that glows.
Some glow not much at all, their ears blocked against the call.
Some hear but have not yet heard, the light around them that holds the word.
And few there are who light the way, from garbage dumps, and troubled day.
Their cloaks and gowns outshine the sun, one life we’ll go where they have gone.

Therese Mackay      

Jerusalem

Jerusalem
by William Blake.
And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold: Bring me my arrows of desire: Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land.

The Magdalene

The Magdalene. 

The Sacred Dance...