atlas and i went for a hike that turned into an adventure!

when we turned off the gravel road and onto our trail, we found a puddle that still had ice around its edges. i took a shard of ice and wandered around, looking at bits of the world through my icy lens.

an evergreen. the sky. red berries. the sun.

when i was ready to turn away from my soft, muted, sparkling world, i offered the ice to atlas. he likes to eat ice and drink from puddles so it seemed like a double dose of pleasure.

when we left the trail and wandered into a field, we found a small grove of trees. they were dark grey and completely devoid of cover. aside from the rustle of dried leaves below our feet, the air was quiet and still and haunting.

just beyond the trees, there was a dark mound of something, so atlas and i went over to investigate.

the dark mound was felled trees. these trees looked like they had been pulled from the ground and loosely tossed into a pile. the tangled roots on the end of the nearest tree reminded me of an old man with a beard. i fully expected him to open his mouth and start speaking. (the old man wordlessly requested his privacy so there is no picture.)

when i looked to the left of the trees, i knew exactly what had happened. there was a large open pit in the ground. it was a giant sandbox!

atlas and i explored the sandbox for a while. it held rocks and sand and patches of snow and ice – and a tiny patch of flowers that resembled soft brown puffballs.

beyond the sandbox was a mountain, a mountain made of gravel. next to the gravel was a rusty turquoise excavator.

by this time, it was late afternoon, and dark comes early, so we turned toward the trail.

as we walked back, i watched the sentinels in the distance grow closer and closer and closer. it felt like they were circling us in protection and calling us home.

if growing up meant losing your ability to imagine, to play, to pretend, then i wouldn’t want to grow up at all.

fortunately for me, i know it doesn’t.

I was out for a walk one day when a bright red flash of something in a puddle caught my eye.

At least, I thought it was bright red. This seemed impossible, however, because it was a perfectly ordinary puddle on a perfectly ordinary street and there was nothing red anywhere in sight.

When I reached the puddle, I looked closely at it. I was right; there was definitely something red in one corner. I knelt down for a closer look and almost fell over in surprise.

In the puddle was a tiny faery. He was dressed all in green, carried a bow lightly in one hand, and had a head full of fiery red curls.

The faery looked up at me and his eyes twinkled. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked the arrow in his bow, and pulled his arm back.

I don’t know why I didn’t move out of the way. It didn’t make sense to me then and it doesn’t make sense to me now.

His tiny arrow flew up through the puddle and hit me in the forehead.

It didn’t hurt.

It felt like a kiss, the light kiss your mother gives you at bedtime when she thinks you are already asleep.

Slowly, a warmth spread through my body – the warmth of friendship, of affection, of love.

I waved at the faery, blew him a kiss, and stood up to go back about my day. But as I went, I carried the warmth with me like a blessing.

{like this story? then you’ll love the story club. the red-headed faery and i would love to have you along.}

many many years ago, when i was twelve, my father brought a tiny violin home from his travels.

he had been gone for many months and i was so excited to have him home again.

“look what i brought you, son!” he said, and pulled out a box.

inside the box was the tiny violin. it was smaller than my thumb, impossibly small, and it was impeccably crafted.

as i feasted my eyes on the violin, i could hear the faintest hint of music, as if a musician across the valley had just finished a performance and the last echo was still lingering in the air.

i wanted nothing more than to be able to play that beautiful instrument. i set the box carefully on my dresser and checked on it many times a day.

one summer afternoon, i went to my room to check on the violin, only to discover that the box was empty. i let out a cry of shock and disappointment. my parents had been outside in the yard all morning so i didn’t know where it could have gone.

just then, in the quiet that remained after my cry disappeared, i heard music. it sounded like it was coming from the yard so i went to the patio door and stepped outside.

{to be continued in the story club}

once upon a time, a man was climbing a steep cliff face when, in the distance, he spotted a pigeon. this surprised him. he was so high that a pigeon was the last bird he expected to see. an eagle seemed possible, or maybe a falcon, but definitely not a pigeon.

the pigeon came closer and closer and closer. when it reached the man, it paused in the air and said, “you’re going the wrong way.”

this so startled the man that he almost lost his grip. it was the first time a pigeon had ever spoken to him. (or so he thought. a pigeon had actually said hello to him years ago on a pier on santa monica, but he assumed it was a passerby.)

the man decided to ignore the pigeon and kept on climbing.

“you’re going the wrong way!” the pigeon repeated, this time in a very aggrieved manner. “you need to go into the mountain, not up the mountain.”

the man was sure he was imagining things. he was pretty sure pigeons couldn’t talk. he was even more sure that he wasn’t supposed to go into the mountain, especially since he didn’t know how.

but just for laughs, he said, “open sesame”.

imagine his surprise when, with a groan, the mountain opened its mouth and he found himself staring into the blackness.

the pigeon patted him on the back with its wing and said, “there you go, mate. now you’re thinking” and then it flew off.

{to be continued in the story club}

once upon a time, in a far away land known as wisconsin, a baby girl named savannah was born.

savannah was a very special baby. she was full of love & joy & fun and her family adored her.

one spring day, savannah was outside in the sunshine. her mother was taking her for a walk in her stroller. savannah was staring at the world with big eyes, taking it all in – it seemed to get bigger and bigger by the day – when a butterfly flew in front of her and paused in midair.

“hello,” said savannah. (of course, she didn’t say this out loud. she thought it, which is probably a good thing. her mother might have been a bit astonished to hear the word hello coming out of her baby daughter’s mouth. especially if she realized her daughter was saying hello to a butterfly.)

“hello,” said the butterfly. “i like you. would you like to come for a ride with me?” (you know, i don’t really know if the butterfly said this out loud or not. perhaps it only thought it. or perhaps it spoke in butterfly language – a language of fluttering dancing movement.)

regardless of how they spoke, the two understood each other perfectly.

the very next thing savannah knew, she was riding on the back of the butterfly, holding tightly to its neck, while its wings flapped and fluttered on either side of her.

{to be continued in the story club}

1

did you know that she used to have a twinkle in her eye? it ran away one day and got lost in a field of flowers. the twinkle wanted to come home, it really did, but it nestled underneath a daisy for a nap and was wooed on awakening by a passing moth who saw it and fell madly in love. they set up house together underneath an overgrown mushroom. when winter came, the twinkle grew tired of outdoor living, but it just couldn’t find its way back to its girl.

2

when i was little, i spent a long time in a burn unit in ann arbor. years later, do you know what i remember most? i remember that i got to ride in a helicopter. i remember that one of my very first meals consisted of a hamburger and strawberry shortcake – and my mom let me eat the shortcake even though i hadn’t finished all my dinner. i remember trick-or-treating. i remember the art & play room. i remember playing with water and fat syringes and a dinner tray; i used the syringes to move water from one compartment to another. the days in a hospital can be long, so when you join the story club, part of your payment will be used to help me gift stories to children in the hospital. (i was going to give the story club, but now i may buy books from my favorite local children’s bookstore and give them to hospitals instead.)

3

i had the most delicious idea earlier this week. there is still a suggested price for the story club, but i am now inviting you to pay what delights you, whether that is the suggested price or another one. the story club is – and is going to be – full of possibility & wonder & magic, and it seems a shame for money to be a reason to not be part of it. i am over-the-moon-delighted about this idea. i have been smiling ever since it came to me.

once upon a time, in a land that time has forgotten, there lived a painter named gaston.

gaston had been painting since he was a very little boy. it was his favorite thing to do. anytime anyone went looking for him, they would find him curled up in a corner somewhere with paper and paint.

gaston painted when he didn’t have paper and he painted when he didn’t have paint. he painted on trees, he painted on stones, he painted on the hillside. he painted with charcoal, he painted with crushed flowers, he painted in the air with dandelion seeds. he even painted in his imagination.

one afternoon, gaston stumbled upon a small still pool of water. the pool was surrounded by a grove of impossibly tall and straight birch trees.

the whiteness of the birch captivated him and he stood motionless, staring at the crystal clear water.

all of a sudden, gaston realized that more than anything in the world, more than anything he had ever wanted in his entire life, he wanted to paint that pool of water blue.

he thought the scene was perfect exactly as it was, and yet, he really wanted to see what would happen to the pool if he painted it.

he could see the exact shade of blue that he wanted to use in his imagination. it was remarkable. it was almost indescribable. it was as if someone had taken every shade of blue that had ever existed, and some that had never existed at all, and then made a single blue that somehow brought to mind all of them.

gaston could see only two problems with his idea. first, he had no idea how to paint on water. second, he had no idea how to create the shade of blue that he envisioned.

{to be continued in the story club}

once upon a time, there was a tiny puppy. he had big blue eyes, silvery grey fur, and velvety soft ears.

the thing no one knew about this puppy was that his coat was actually a soul. it was a beautiful soul. his job was to keep the soul safe until the person he was holding it for realized that it was hers.

it took her a few years to realize that her soul was lost and to find it again but her soul was there beside her all along, caring for her, watching over her with love, waiting to be reunited.

on the day she welcomed her soul home again, there was a silent clap of thunder and a chorus of hallelujahs.

even without the soul, the puppy’s coat was silvery grey and beautiful. the only change was the addition of two tiny dim spots on his shoulders where the soul had been connected.

the end.

if you like this story, you might like the story club.

think fruit of the month club, only instead of fruit, it holds tiny stories that remind you of joy, magic & wonder.

i am especially fond of the story club because i created it to be something in which you both give and receive. when you join, you get to invite a friend to join with you. and, part of the cost goes to help me gift subscriptions to children in the hospital.

it is going to be magical.

won’t you come and join me in the story club?

i would love to have you!

imagine if you lost the twinkle in your eye.

where do you think it would go and what do you think it would do? how would you find it again?

as you know, i am a storyteller.

if you love my stories –

if you want a touchstone for hope & joy & possibility & magic –

if you have children in your life and want a regular infusion of story –

i have a new offering – the story club – that just might be for you.

intrigued? delighted?

then you will want to read all about the story club.

(you can even listen to me read you a story.)

there are special bonuses if you join before july 15th.

and it is going to be full of magic.

once upon a time, far across the sea, there was a kingdom where lavender was as prized as diamonds and pearls and rubies are today.

from a distance, the kingdom actually sparkled like a diamond. this was because the lavender radiated warmth and light like the sun at midday and twinkled like the stars at night.

the king and queen wore robes of lavender: dark purple for feasts (useful in case of spills), light purple for ceremonies, and pink for everyday.

one of the many marvelous things about this land was that there was no shortage of lavender. every family had lavender in their garden. it grew profusely and there was more than enough for everyone.

in this kingdom, instead of crossing your fingers for someone or wishing them good luck, you tucked a sprig of lavender into their pocket or behind their ear. the smell of the lavender swirled around them throughout the day and reminded them of magic and wonder and dreams-come-true.

sometimes, a round jolly striped bumble bee would follow the person, attracted by the smell of the lavender. bees were seen as tiny winged messengers from the gods, so the buzzing filled the lucky person with a deep sense of peace and joy.