Hiking out in the woods with my dog Moe, we get caught in a storm. Finding an old derelict cabin, we take shelter.
The Tree Pixie is an original story written and told by Simon Brooks, ℗ © 2021
As I change the format of this podcast, I will be sharing original stories, and classic tales and rhymes. This will be a children’s show for all ages.
Once Upon A Handkerchief is a story which grew from the title sentence all by itself like a flower. Imagine a handkerchief with an embroidered butterfly, sitting covered in dust in an antique shop. Almost lost, almost hidden, it’s waiting for someone to come along and find it.
The story was written for Elizabeth Peterson, a friend of mine. Another version, told in the first person, appeared on Story Story Podcast 17th February, 2021 episode.
“Once, Upon A Handkerchief” (an original story). Copyright and performance rights, Simon Brooks ℗ © 2021
#storytelling #magic #butterflies #antiqueshops #fairytales
Janet Armstrong, 1985
It’s been a while since I have posted here, and I have a few more irreverent captions to beautiful artwork from around the Golden Age of illustration. These come from the latter years. All but for one are done by N.C. Wyeth from the book “Drums” by James Boyd, 1925 (apologies ot Boyd, Wyeth and Charles Scribner’s Sons. The other is Maxfield Parrish’s “Shuffle-Shoom and Amber Locks”, 1920. Apologies to Maxfield Parrish.
18, 19, and 20 are my favourites. The others can be found here: Sat What?!
When the water falls from the sky to the dry ground river beds rush and roar with its sound. The wind sings along, as torrents push passed me as I walk higher and higher up stream until I reach the seemingly gentle, serene pond where it all begins. And I look up to the sky and the rain.
It was a two hour hike there and back. It seemed like short minutes coming down and Moe, wet through, still playful and jumping when we got to the car! Snacks for both of us when we got home!
Photos and writing copyright Simon Brooks 2016 ©
Do not copy or redistribute without written permission. It is illegal after all!
If you want prints, shoot me an email!
Today I took Moe on a walk. She did not have a good long walk yesterday, so I thought a romp in the woods would be fun for both of us, even if it was chilly and sprinkling a little rain.
Because I had plans later in the day I thought maybe an hour or a bit more, so we headed to a favourite place of ours, but took a trail we had not taken before. It appeared flat which was good. Moe could really run between the trees, and would return. It was a short trail that led to another which, I thought, we had taken before, only from the other side. So we followed it. The trail went from flat to straight up. Imagine Quebec City, or San Francisco, only wooded, with no downhill, just up, up, up. Between trees, over exposed roots, through pine groves and birch crofts, passed rocks which stood aloof from the forest rising 10 to 20 feet high. Ferns tall, coming up higher than my knees, covering, hiding Moe. She would stop and stretch up so her head popped above the green foliage to see where I was.
There were huge trees surrounded by much smaller, spindly trees. This was once sheep country. The smaller trees are ‘young’, sheep farming long abandoned, like the stone walls falling down, and cellar holes filled with plant life. Some of the stone walls were feet thick, standing like a raised road coming out of the forest floor, now with trees fallen over them, lying along the length of the wall, shattered; or broken backed having crashed over the wall. Some gaps between the rocks were small enough so only rodents could crawl through, others almost large enough for a lamb to be able to get its head stuck. In other places the wall was down and scattered like a giant marble game, played by some unknown forest creature.
We were not lost. We knew the area we were in, we were merely exploring it more than we had anticipated! Without a map, without a compass, and without water or snacks. Neither Moe nor I had eaten much before the hike. It was going to be a fairly short walk, where water flowed down streams for Moe to drink from. I could wait until we got home.
About two hours later, after an hour and 50 minutes of walking, no, some pretty intense hiking up hill, and up and up, then steep, twisting trails down, and down; tired, wet and sweaty, dehydrated and hungry, we were home. A late lunch and a large cup of tea for me, fresh food and drink for Moe, we had had a lot of fun seeing the things we saw, and imagining what it might have been like to walk these woods when they weren’t woods regularly to tend sheep. Or to live there a thousand years ago, hunting for a meal, or trying not to be hunted yourself!