every night, savannah and i lie in the dark and tell stories. i thought you might like to join us, in case you have a 3 year old who wants “another story!” too.

(like this? it’s essentially a miniature version of the story club, so you might like that too.)

{an irregular series of postcards from our wild friends. this one is from a yellow warbler named viola. previous postcards: fred, constance, sam.}

today has been a busy day. apparently i am nesting, because i have done nothing but work on my nest. this is my very first nest and i want it to be perfect. plus, i like the idea of sitting in comfort.

building a nest is very satisfying work. especially now. i am building my nest at the top of a lilac bush. have you ever smelled lilacs in the springtime? if you have smelled them, perhaps you know why i decided to build my nest here. first, my babies will smell each other and me. then, they will smell the sweetness.

(can you even see me? maybe you can see my yellow feathers among all the green. i saw someone taking this picture but didn’t have time to stand still for them. my eggs are calling me!)

your friend, viola

wishing you could find postcards from the wild in your mailbox?

now you can!

because it’s spring-summer, and your time is precious, i’m going to keep this short & sweet.

here are the specifics.

what: you’ll receive five postcards ~ five members of the animal kingdom, in photo + story.

where: the postcards will arrive in your mailbox.

when: the postcards will arrive randomly, beginning in october. (i have a secret wish to photograph a particular wild animal, and i need some time.)

who: perhaps, you!

why: you love animals. you love mail. you love tiny + delightful stories. you know that the wild is full of wisdom & full of wonder. you want to connect with the wild in & around you.

cost: $29

do join me in this postcard adventure!

i’d be delighted + honored to have you along.

–>this offering is no longer available. maybe next year!

p.s. postcards from the wild might make just the right gift.

for a wild heart in the city, a child who loves animals, or a house-bound elderly relative.

{an irregular series of postcards from our wild friends. this one is from a deer named sam. previous postcards: fred, constance.}

i shed my other antler today. (i shed the first one last week.) i bumped a tree branch on my way through the forest and it fell right off.

i will confess that the falling antler startled me at first. i leaped away out of instinct. but when i came back and sniffed it cautiously, it smelled like me, so i knew it was all right.

my head feels so light now!

(have you ever had antlers? i don’t know if i would recommend them. they really do stick out to the side.)

your friend, sam

{this adventure comes to you by way of a chickadee named constance. previous adventurers: fred.}

i was having a snack in the lilac bush today when another bird joined me. this bird was black and white too, but it had a distinctive red stripe on its head.

a new friend, i thought. i took one last bite and flew to another branch so my new friend could take a turn at the feeder.

you won’t believe what happened. instead of flying up and nibbling at the seeds, like we chickadees do, this bird began to peck at one of the thickest branches of the lilac bush.

rap-rap-rap. rap-rap-rap. rap-rap-rap.

what was that bird doing?

was it writing a secret message? was it playing music? was it knocking birdseed to the ground?

i watched for a bit, but the bird was so absorbed in its task that i didn’t want to interrupt. i finally flew away, still wondering. i’ve been asking my friends and family, but they don’t know what it was doing either.

maybe one day i will see the bird again and solve this mystery.

(don’t tell anyone, but i tried pecking at a branch myself. i got a tiny dent in my beak and a not-so-tiny headache. maybe you could try and let me know what happens?)

your friend, constance

almost every day in oregon, my pup and i went for a walk in the park near our house. in the middle of the park was a large grassy field.

in the winter, the field was full of puddles, mud, and the occasional duck. in the summer, the field was full of children playing soccer, sunbathers, and dogs chasing balls.

one day – i’m not exactly sure when it began – i heard a small sound while i was walking on the path around the field.

i wish i knew how to describe it to you. the best i can do is to say that it was a combination of crackling ice + whispers + rustling.

i stood still for a moment and listened, trying to determine where the sound originated.

eventually, i realized the sound was coming from the grass.

i began to pay attention and to listen whenever i was in the park.

i heard the sound in the morning, when the dew was fresh on the grass. i also heard it in the afternoon, on grey days, just after a light rain.

i grew to love the sound. it was as if the grass was whispering secrets, secrets that, if i only listened closely enough, i would be able to hear.

one grey afternoon, while i stood listening, i heard a single word.

“run!”

i ignored it, thinking it was my imagination, but then i heard it again.

“run!”

i wondered if the grass was talking to me. if, in fact, it was, i was afraid to listen. i was afraid that my feet might hurt it.

“run!” i heard again. “that’s what we’re made for!”

i took off my shoes and socks and walked into the field.

the grass caressed the bottoms of my feet and tickled the sides of my toes. the earth was firm and supportive beneath me.

then i ran, following the lead of my dog, who hadn’t waited for an invitation. i watched as the grass bent low beneath my footsteps and bounced back up again.

when i stopped to catch my breath, i heard the sound again.

it was louder this time, and full of laughter.

i threw back my head and laughed too.

the grass stains remained on my feet for days. they reminded me of an invitation – extended and accepted.

{this particular story is true, unlike most of the stories in the story club, but the essence is the same.}

once upon a time, in the wild of northern michigan, there lived a very large puppy named atlas.

one morning, atlas went outside to find the whole world covered in white. he shivered a little. the white was wet and cold on his paws. for a moment, he wondered what had happened to his green grass. but then he saw his bush and went about his business and, when he went back inside, he forgot all about it.

every day, the white seemed to grow until soon, it was taller than atlas.

one day, atlas was taking his person for a walk when he smelled something under the white.

it smelled furry.

atlas dug in the white with one paw.

nothing.

he dug in the white with two paws.

nothing.

atlas dug more deeply, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, both paws moving as fast as they could go, until there was a large hole in front of him.

he stuck his nose in the hole. oh, the smell of fur was strong now!

atlas dug again, furiously, until all of a sudden, the ground collapsed and he fell nose-first into a large dry tunnel.

{to be continued in the story club}

a while ago, i started a gratitude practice.

i sit on my bed and look around the room and really look at everything i have. i don’t know how or why, but it often turns into an experience of wonder.

i have a bed! i have a pillow! i have a comfortable bed and pillow! i love my bed and pillow! i have $2! i love my $2! i have a purple and green striped wool blanket! the blanket is soft! i love my blanket! i have socks on my feet! i have more socks to wear when these are dirty! i love my socks!

when you’re a child, it seems easier to connect with your sense of wonder.

i suppose it’s because everything really is fresh and new.

i flip a switch and there is light! i flip a switch and the light disappears! the telephone makes a noise! the waves splash me and i am wet! the dog is soft and hard all at once! i touch your cheek and it squishes!

every once in a while, i can look at something and see it clearly.

all of my past experiences fall away.

i see the thing as it is, as it truly is, and i am filled with wonder.

when i can’t, when my sense of wonder fades, i have stories.

anything is possible in stories.

everything is possible in stories.

i like stories that expand my sense of what is possible.

the more i learn about the universe, the more i think that anything is possible.

the more i learn about the universe, the more i think that the most extraordinary things in stories pale in comparison to the wonder that exists here and now.

one morning, in meditation, the beginning of a tiny story came to me.

this particular story is about a mermaid named mariana who lives in the deepest part of the ocean.

her hair is the color of squid ink: the color of the sky at night, the color of the murky water that is her home.

her hair is also home to millions of tiny bioluminescent organisms. when she swims through the ocean, her hair fans out around her in a halo made of light.

i write and tell the stories i love to read.

they spill out when i am connected to my sense of childlike wonder.

i don’t know if there are mermaids or unicorns or dragons under our feet or puppies that sit down to tea with a family of rabbits or trees that fall in love.

but they delight me, they enchant me, they remind me that nothing is as it seems.

and then i lift up my wonder-filled eyes from the story and shine them on the world around me.

can you think of anything better than that?

(need the link to the story club? here ’tis. it’s currently half-off, because i am sticking my tongue out at the winter blues.)

{this adventure comes to you by way of a blue jay named fred.}

today, i tried to land on a cloud.

my mother told me about clouds, but the world is so white and i was flying so fast that i really thought the cloud was a snowbank.

fortunately, i caught myself as i tumbled through the white mist.

right now, i am sitting in a lilac bush. i am going to have a snack and collect myself before i go home and tell my mother about my adventure.

(as i was tumbling through the cloud, i found myself wishing that i was tumbling down a snowbank. doesn’t that sound fun? let’s try it sometime.)

your friend, fred

dear savannah,

brrrrrrrrr, it is cold at the north pole right now. it might be just as cold as north dakota.

the elves in the stable are working round-the-clock to keep the water in the reindeer’s water dishes thawed. it seems to freeze solid every hour. when they miss a bowl, the reindeer bump their noses on the ice when they go to take a drink. almost all of the reindeer have bruises on their noses now. even rudolph.

did you write a letter to me this year? mrs. claus says i’m getting old because sometimes i forget things. i am getting old, but i never forget the important things, like where you live or how old you are. i do, however, often forget where my glasses are. (usually, they are in my beard. it is such a big fluffy beard that i often put my glasses in there for safekeeping and then forget about them.)

are you enjoying the holiday season? there is so much wonder and magic in the air right now. you can watch the snowflakes sparkle in the lamplight. you can giggle at the icicles on atlas’s chin. you can see the colorful shadows on the wall behind the christmas tree. you can watch the chickadees as they hop from branch to branch. you can find the green of the evergreens hidden beneath their winter coat of snow.

mrs. claus and i love this time of year. we drink hot cocoa and swap stories about the people we love. sometimes we feel sad because we miss the elves that have retired and gone back to their villages, so we cry for a while and then give each other a big hug.

(silly me. i am getting old. i don’t need to tell you about wonder and magic. you can find it anywhere. i heard how you found the mardi gras beads and made a rainbow.)

it’s fun to think of you getting older, savannah. i hope you know how special you are and how very much you are loved, exactly the way you are.

it’s time for me to say goodbye now. i need to bring some soup to the chief elf. he has a cold and his nose won’t stop running. it is dripping all over the presents.

don’t forget your friend santa claus, and please leave me a cookie! i love pumpkin raisin, just like your auntie nibby.

merry christmas.

love, santa claus

{like this? then you’ll love the story club. you can think of me as your auntie nibby, and i would love to have you along.}

the caretaker for the unicorns of the north woods lives here, in a tiny ramshackle cottage.

(the cottage is cleverly disguised as a tumbledown shed.)

planted outside the cottage is the unicorns’ favorite snack. the flowers are white, and especially sweet just before winter – after the autumn winds have infused them with the scent of wild apples.