Chapter 3 ~ Meeting the Flower Fairy

After breakfast, Little Pine put the big fun bubble that the Spirits of Fun had sent for the elves in a pine cone basket and set off to find them.  That wasn’t always easy, particularly this time of year.  They could be anywhere in the woods decorating the stumps of fallen trees with bits of fungus and moss.  On Festival Day, all the squirrels and chipmunks would come to use the stumps as drums during the Grand March and the elves always made sure that the drums looked as wonderful as they sounded.

Little Pine stuffed his pockets with more of the fun bubbles to pass out to anyone else he met along the way.  He would go to the elves’ house first.  Even if they were out working, he could give a fun bubble to Mother Elf, and she might know where he could look for them.  Besides, she would probably be baking treats for the festival, and she just might offer him a taste or two.

He was just two bends of the trail away from the Elf house when a flicker of color caught his eye.  And what he saw stopped him in his tracks.  “Wow! Hello!” he said to one of the prettiest little creatures he ever saw.  “My name is Little Pine.  Who are you?”

“Hello, Little Pine,” the fragile creature smiled.  “I’m Princess Rose, one of the flower fairies of the roses.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Have you come for the Festival?” Little Pine asked.  “I hope you’re not looking for your roses.  I’m afraid they’re all sound asleep this time of year.”

“Yes, Little Pine, I am here for the Festival.  And while it’s true that all the wild roses are deep in their winter dreams, in the nearby land where humans live, some roses grow even this time of year.  The humans keep them warm and fed in their own little indoor gardens. 

“Humans have a special place in their hearts for flowers, and they’re especially fond of roses.  They give them as gifts to each other to celebrate all kinds of lovely things—love, friendship, achievements, the birth of babies.  And they give them as gifts of comfort in times of sorrow.

“They have their own versions of the Festival of Light and they will be sending roses to each other by the thousands.   My job is to encourage the roses to bloom their brightest and to give off their best perfumes. I thank them for the beauty and joy they add to the world.

“But while I was in the area this year, I thought I’d stop in and visit your woods.  Your Festival is quite famous, you know.  I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

“That’s wonderful!” Little Bear said.  “Maybe you would like to be a part of the Grand March.  It happens at the very start of Festival Day, the day the Light returns.  All the creatures of the woods parade through the trees to the waterfall, and from there around the pond to the feet of Grandfather Pine, our eldest tree. When everyone is there, they join in a song about the triumph of the light.  Do you think that you would like to join us?”

“That would be splendid, Little Pine!  Yes, I’ll gladly accept your gracious invitation, thank you.  I’ll see you again before them, I’m sure.  But right now I have to be off.  I’m meeting some of the other flower fairies for tea.”

“They’re welcome to be in the Grand March, too,” said Little Pine.  “Please be sure to extend an invitation to them.  I offer it on behalf of all the creatures of the woods.”

“Why, thank you!  I’ll do that, Little Pine.  Until we meet again, may your eyes see beauty and your heart feel love.”

“Same to you, Princess Rose.  Oh!  And here, take this,” Little Pine said, reaching into his pocket for a fun bubble.

As soon as he handed it to her, it burst into a shower of laughter and sparkling pink, coral, red, white and yellow lights that looked like tiny roses.   “Happy Festival, Princess!” said Little Pine as he skipped off down the trail.

“Happy Festival, Little Pine!” she laughed. Then she fluttered her rosy wings and flew away, a shower of laughing lights trailing behind her.

Chapter 2 ~ A Message from Friends

Mother Pine woke just after sunrise to the sound of uproarious laughter from her son. “Little Pine!” she said, bending down to talk to him, “What’s so funny?”

Little Pine was still brushing sleep and happy tears from his eyes. “Oh, Mom! I had such a dream! At least I think it was a dream,” he chortled, still wiggling with laughter.

“A great big UFO flew down from the sky. It was bright red and had pretty blinking lights all over it, and a giant Tweety Bird was riding on it singing all these funny whistling songs!”

“A Tweety Bird! A UFO! Oh, my!” laughed Mother. “Then what happened?”

“It landed! Right beside me! And Tweety unstrapped his seat belt and flew over to me chirping my name. ‘Little Pine! Wake up!’ he said, ‘I have a message for you!’”

“A message? What did he say?” Mother Pine asked.

“Well, I sat right up and asked him that very thing,” said Little Pine, “and then he made this deep bow and cleared his little birdie throat, and then he whistled a sort of Pay-Attention sound. ‘I bring you greetings, Little Pine, from the Spirits of Fun to let you know they are thinking of you and wish you a Festival Season filled with merriment and good cheer.’ Then he took a big green box from the UFO, tied with a bright red ribbon, and told me it was a gift for me from the Spirits of Fun.”

“Oh my!” said Mother Pine. “Did you open it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Little Pine. “Tweety insisted. So I took the lid off the box, and it was filled with all these sparkling bubbles.”

“Bubbles?” asked Mother Pine.

“Yes! They were all different colors and sizes and kind of squishy. I had no idea what they were, but they were awfully pretty. Tweety laughed at the expression on my face and told me they were magic bubbles, each one holding a hug or a tickle, a wink, or a laugh or a smile. I could fold them all in my pockets and pass them out to everyone I met, all Festival long.”

“What a wonderful gift!” Mother Pine said, smiling.

“And at the very bottom of the box, two especially large bubbles were jiggling, one was purple and gold, and Tweety said it was meant for the Elf Family. He said to stand back when I gave it to them because it was ready to burst with glee. Isn’t that funny? Imagine the elves enveloped in bursting glee!” Little Pine erupted in laughter just thinking of it, and Mother laughed, too.

When Little Pine caught his breath, he reached into his pocket and, almost as if he didn’t believe it would truly be there, he pulled out a large bubble, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow. His mother’s eyes opened wide in surprise. Up until this moment, she was sure that his dream had been only a dream.

“And this one,” Little Pine said, “this one, Mom, is for you.”

He lifted the bubble up to her boughs, and when she accepted it, the bubble burst and a beautiful melody filled the air with a sound like a thousand birds singing. “He said it would fill you with love and laughter all season long,” Little Pine said, looking at his mother’s surprised and glowing face.

“Why, I think it will do just that, Little Pine. Thank you! And thank you, Tweety and Spirits of Fun. What a fine, fine way to start this beautiful day.”

Then she and Little Pine settled down for a breakfast of winterberry muffins. And all the while, little bursts of color and laughter popped all around them.

Chapter 1 ~Little Pine Meets Grandmother Bear

For weeks now, the days had been growing shorter and shorter. Little Pine used to play for hours after dinner, but now the sun set as he was eating. He didn’t mind. His leaf-friends had already gone for the year and most of the forest critters were hibernating or spending their time in their burrows or nests. Besides, he seemed to enjoy sleeping more now that the nights were long.

During the day, he explored the woods on his own or stopped by the elves’ home to ask them to play. Now that the days were growing cold, he seldom saw humans. He kept an eye out for them anyway, of course. He knew the rule: Always stand perfectly still whenever a human might see you.

Sometimes he would see a chipmunk or rabbit or squirrel on his travels, and if he was lucky, he might even see one of the deer. They were all his friends, and he liked telling his mother about his chats with them over dinner. He liked to visit the waterfall to listen to it sing, too, and his mother always laughed when he sang her the songs he learned there.

Mother Pine loved dinner time. She looked forward to hearing about the adventures Little Pine had enjoyed during the day. Today, she had just finished setting out maple seed stew when she heard Little Pine racing toward home shouting, “Mother! Mother! Wait ‘til I tell you who I met today!”

She made him rinse his boughs in the rain log and sit down. Then she smiled and said excitedly, “Well? Who did you meet, Little Pine?”

“A bear!” Little Pine said. “A beautiful bear standing in front of one of our cousins, and the cousin was all decorated with ribbons and lights! The bear said she was Grandmother Bear, and that she was here to begin preparing for the Festival of Light.” The words tumbled from Little Pine so fast that Mother Pine could only laugh at his excitement. “I didn’t know Festival time was coming already! I hadn’t even thought of it yet. No wonder the elves have been so hard to find. They must already be busy.

“I never saw a bear in the forest before, Mom. But Grandmother Bear said they lived nearby and many of them were coming for the Festival this year. Some were even traveling a great distance. Isn’t that wonderful? Bears! Imagine!”

Mother Pine was delighted with the news. She hadn’t seen a bear since she was a little pine herself. She knew, of course, that the Festival was approaching. She had intended to mention it to her son this very night. It was a happy time for them both, marking the return of the sun and the beginning of the season of snow and their long winter sleep.

They talked about past Festivals as they cleared away the dinner. Then Mother Pine tucked her son in for the night and wished him sweet dreams. He gave her a big hug and said he could hardly wait to see what surprises his dreams that night would bring. And with a smile on his face, he fell asleep, whispering, “Grandmother Bear! Imagine that! A real, beautiful bear!”

Little Pine and the Festival of Light

Welcome, Friends, to the Adventures of Little Pine and the Festival of Light: A Beary Merry Festival Indeed.

This favorite holiday tale, first told in 2015, follows Little Pine as he and his forest friends enter the magical time of preparing for the Festival of Light, which celebrates the winter solstice when the sun once again turns northward, bringing back lengthening days of light.

You can click here to go to Chapter One.

Hunting Season, Opening Day

Fallen branches rise from the creek bed
like the sloughed off antlers of the old buck,
bedded down now, hiding from the hunters.
I wish him good cover and safety for the season.
The color of the fallen leaves that blanket
the woods will match his pelt. Nature provides.
I can see him standing by these waters
at dawn, drinking his fill, then disappearing.
Let the hunters go home empty-handed.
Their cupboards do not lack for food.
It is a great gift just to roam these banks.
Let the creek’s peace be your prize for the day.

Morning Contemplation

The Persistent Ones live up to their titles,
floating in and out of my awareness,
sometimes bursting in, to receive my wishes,
to send me their own.

Then the chickadees catch my attention,
their conversations making smiles
in the center of my heart.

I see the faces and forms of them—
the ones who arrive as recurring dreams.
I hear their voices, feel the essence
that makes each unique,. watch their moods
wrap around them, imagine their thoughts.

Listening to an overview of current world events,
I am convinced anew that we have slid into hell
and are hurtling ever faster toward its core.

But the ladder-back woodpecker comes
to point my eyes to blue openings in the clouds.
For a moment I am present again, here,
where brown leaves cover the hill and wee birds
play in the bare branches of the lilac tree.

I turn inside to see the central Persistent One
radiating loving, indescribable power. All is well.
It doesn’t matter that I know nothing,
that all this is less than a speck in the whole.
I know the only thing I need to know. Yes.
All is well.

The First Frost

Jack stopped by this morning.
It was a quick visit, a liitle hello
that ended before ten. Months
had passed since he was last here,
and, as I said, he didn’t stay.
Still, images of him drifted
across my mind the whole day.
With a few sweeps of his brush
he caught the colors of the sunrise
in broad, feathery swaths,
and behind them, fragile stands
rose from the depths, like secrets
yet to be revealed. He’ll come
again, paint another story. I’ll wait.
Oh, Jack, what pictures you leave
in my mind, even when all signs
of you have melted away.

Bittersweet

This time of year, when the clouds cover the sky
and the nights come all too soon, it can feel
as if all the color has drained from the world.
The summer song of the trees has given way
to their clattering in the cold wind.
At your feet, only faded, fallen leaves remain.
The brush that surrounds you is gray
and tangled with burrs and knife-edged thorns.
Even the pond is dull, its inhabitants
and visitors asleep now or gone.

But if you follow the path and keep climbing,
wound around the trees to the east
you’ll come across a patch of bittersweet vines,
their berries looking like lanterns gleaming
through the gloom. The old timers say
there’s a legend that if you gaze at them
and listen for what they have to say
they will tell you secrets that fill you
with understanding. “Give it a try,” they say.
“Those lanterns don’t grow here for nothing.
It could be that they’re meant for you.”

Cinnamon and Celebration

I must have been about three when I dressed myself all by myself for the very first time. It was early in the morning and I listened at my bedroom door for my Dad to get his coffee. Once he did, I bounded into the kitchen, struck a pose, and yelled, “Look! I got dressed!”

I was greeted with laughter and applause, and my mother made an extra piece of cinnamon toast for me in celebration.

I thought about that as I sprinkled cinnamon on my oatmeal yesterday morning. Isn’t it interesting, I thought, how many memories are liked together by our sense of smell? I make “old-fashioned” oatmeal, by the way, not the instant kind. It has a hardier texture and keeps you fueled for a long time. I add raisins to mine while it’s cooking, and sometimes chunks of apple. And, because my great-grandmother served it that way, I top it with a pat of real butter, a sprinkle of dark brown sugar, and a small dollop of plain yogurt or kefir.

But I didn’t mean to talk about oatmeal. I wanted to share the joy my three-year-old self felt at her landmark accomplishment. She felt so capable and proud, so “all grown up.”

As I said in last week’s letter, I believe it’s good to celebrate yourself every now and then. When you get the hang of a new skill, or when you passed a test or completed a task even though you were tired and wanted to quit, celebrate it. Pat yourself on the back. Put on a smile and say “Good job!” Revel in your pleasure and satisfaction. Share it if you like—not in a boastful or arrogant way, but simply to spread your joy. Or keep quiet, and let what you’ve done speak for itself. But be glad about it, either way.

The holidays are barreling down on us now, and love ‘em or hate ‘em, they put pressure on us all to live up to some ideal, to be happy no matter what. They come heaped with memories, both merry and sad, contented or mad, with traditions and stories we embrace or reject. Some of us are compelled to gather with family and friends. Some of us are compelled to be alone. But for all of us, even those of us who pretend that “it’s just another day,” the holidays pull us out of the ordinary and create little flurries of stress. And each of us does the best we can in the midst of it all, and I want to say that doing your best, even when it falls short of your hopes and expectations, is reason enough to say, “Well done.”

I hope that as you prepare for the days ahead you will pause from time to time to take stock of your accomplishments, both the little ones and the spectacular, and to celebrate them. Celebrate how you met the challenges and came out on the other side, and you’re still you, only stronger somehow, and better.

Personally, I’ll be launching the holiday season by taking next Sunday off. If you get lonesome for me, you can always pop in here. I leave pieces of myself almost every day.

I’ll have a new Sunday Letter for you again in December. You bring the coffee. I’ll bring cinnamon toast. And we’ll just celebrate together.

Warmly,
Susan

Image by LinneaFlower from Pixabay

The Pine Grove

This must be what it’s like to be an ant,
tall pillars rising all around you, the hilly ground
with its pebbles and twigs beneath your feet
as you walk in silence, one attentive step after another.

I suppose ants don’t see the bright spray
of red leaves caught in the pine’s boughs
like some Christmas decoration. Their world
differs so much from mine, although we
are a part of each other’s, inextricably.

Do the pines know that leaves dance in their arms?
Some part of me believes they do, that they know
vast swaths of the world beyond my own perception.
They are old, after all, having lived on this earth
twice as long as I have. They have risen high
above the earth that holds their sprawling roots.
They commune with sky and wind and birds
and know the seasons. They listen to the stars.

When I walk among them, awe fills me, and wonder.
I touch their rugged bark and breathe their fragrance.
I see their fallen cones and the stems of the cones
left after the squirrels have pulled off their scales
to feast on the hidden nuts. I laugh at the heaps
of them piled between the roots of the trees.
The squirrels here, I see, are well nourished.
And as I walk here, so am I.